Dare to Lie

by Jen McLaughlin

  I twisted her curl around my finger, frowning. I never stayed in bed after sex, and I sure as hell didn’t play with a girl’s hair. The only time I touched it was when I needed to yank on it to make her come. That was about it. I dropped the curl immediately, and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Shit.”

  She lifted her face, resting her chin on my chest. “What?”

  “I have to go to work.” In half an hour, I was due to meet with my team and Agent Torres about Bitter Hill, and I had to wash last night off before I went. “I gotta go.”

  “Wait.” She licked her plump, pink lips, and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Can I ask you something first?”

  I stiffened. Here it was. She was going to ask me if this meant something, if I was sticking around, all because I came back for more. Despite sleeping with her all night long, I was still hard with desire for her. She was like an all-natural version of Viagra, and if she didn’t knock it off, I’d have to seek medical care—because she’d get me killed. And I’d have no one to blame but myself.

  “Fine,” I said, my voice harder than I intended. “What is it?”

  “Nothing . . . just . . . Why are you living next door suddenly?” she asked, eyeing me cautiously.

  Oh. No reason at all. Your brother asked me to guard you from a murderous gang we’re trying to take down. “My house is getting fumigated, and my—”

  She blinked. “Fumigated? For what?”

  “Termites. Just started. Getting it right at the beginning of the invasion, thank God.” I scratched the back of my head. “My buddy was traveling, and he said I could stay at his place while my house was taken care of, so it worked out nicely.”

  “No one lives there.”

  I shrugged. “He just bought it. Doesn’t move in until next month.”

  “So there’s no furniture over there?”

  “There’s some.” I shrugged. “Enough. He had it delivered the day of the auction when you went home with me, which was probably why you didn’t see it, or know you were getting a neighbor. I had no idea you lived here until you knocked on my door last night. When I saw you and that guy, the rest is history.”

  She studied me for a second, pursing her lips, then looked away, sitting up, letting go of the hold she had on me. “I . . . see.”

  I slid off the bed, bending over and grabbing my boxers. I’d put them on at some point throughout the night, and they’d come right the hell back off shortly thereafter. As I stepped into them, I watched her, taken aback that she hadn’t mentioned the elephant in the room—me and my return to her arms, when I’d sworn I wouldn’t ever sleep with the same woman twice.

  Didn’t she have questions?

  Questions about the future?

  Expectations I couldn’t fill?

  She hopped off the bed and grabbed a robe, shrugging into it seductively. The thing was, though, on any other woman, it would have just been a chick putting on a robe. She didn’t even try, but she looked sexy as hell doing pretty much everything. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it, or the strange hold she had on me. I stepped into my jeans, lowering my head. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, sitting back down on her bed and rolling socks up her leg. “Should I not be okay for some reason?”

  I stopped and stared, watching her cover her ankles and calves with the blue knit fabric. I stared at her ankles—her goddamn ankles, for Christ’s sakes—for longer than I should have before I snapped myself the hell out of it. “No.”

  “Okay.” She finished putting her socks on, and gathered her hair in her hand, pushing it over her shoulder and spinning to face me. She hugged her knees and rested her chin on top, offering me a small smile. “Last night was fun. Thanks.”

  I stared at her.

  That was all she had to say?

  Last night was fun. Thanks.

  I buttoned my pants, feeling irrationally angry but not really knowing why. She was doing exactly what I wanted her to do. Not asking for more. Not looking at me with warm, needy eyes. Not asking me to stay. And yet . . . “Yeah. It was.”

  She stared at me.

  I frowned back.

  After a while, she cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Anyway, you better get going. Wouldn’t want you to be late on my account.”

  I picked my shirt up off her light wood floors. They were shiny and clean, and the only things on the floor were our clothes. Clearly, I’d been dismissed. I didn’t like it. I was usually the one who did the dismissing, damn it. “Yeah. Sure.” I headed for the door, and froze after two steps. She needed to know that what we had was special, yes, but not special enough to make me break every rule I’ve ever lived by. “Sky, I—”

  “I know,” she said softly. “No need to say another word.”

  “You reading me again?”

  She nodded. “Am I not supposed to?”

  “What am I thinking?”

  “That this was fun, but that’s all it can ever be, because you don’t want more than fun.” She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Luckily for you, that’s all I want, too. So we’re cool. Okay?”

  I opened my mouth, closed it, then nodded. The thing with her was she did seem to know what I was going to say, without me having to actually do so. Good.

  There was no misunderstanding.

  No hurt feelings.

  Just us.

  Leaning down, I curled my hand behind her head, and kissed her before breaking it off quickly. Without another word, I headed next door, not looking back. I didn’t know what she was doing to me, but I knew it wasn’t good. I’d hoped one more night would appease the need that wouldn’t let go of me, and yet it hadn’t. But if I was going to possibly be going after her brother at some point . . .

  I couldn’t mess with her.

  Not like this.

  I made quick work of brushing my teeth, took a second to comb my hair back, and shrugged into an Oxford shirt, doing up all the buttons. It was my go-to gear because it was respectable enough for the office, yet, with a few undone buttons, it could be casual enough for a day out and about as a Son.

  After shoving my arms through the sleeves of my leather jacket, I stood there in front of the mirror, studying the image that stared back at me. Smooth red hair. Hard green eyes. Enough scruff to seem laid-back, but not so much that I looked like a damn lumberjack or hipster. Sick of staring at myself, I shut off the light, grabbed the keys to my truck, and headed out into the hallway. I spared a glance at Sky’s door as I passed it, but I walked right the hell by, and I went to my meeting without thinking about her again.

  Instead, I focused on work.

  On taking down Bitter Hill, once and for all.

  I walked into Fitness Headquarters, a gym bag slung over my shoulder, and stopped at the front desk, signing in like any other patron would. After changing in the locker room, I spent thirty minutes working on my upper body, sweating and pushing myself harder than ever before. My muscles screamed and my heart raced by the time I let the weights hit the bottom of the machine one last time.

  Releasing a shuddered breath, I swiped my forearm across my forehead, and glanced around. No tail. No suspicious lurkers. Just a few chicks, and one dude on the elliptical who was far too busy checking out the women to be watching me. Standing, I slung a towel over my shoulder and headed for the showers. After I showered and dressed, I pulled a key out of my pocket and unlocked the storage closet, glancing over my shoulder as I slid inside.

  I descended the stairs quickly, heading down a secret hallway. The second I entered the office, I smiled as the familiar sound of typing and low voices surrounded me. On the surface, the gym was a legit business, but underneath that, it was all DEA. and the perfect home base for me to report to my handler. Anyone watching me would see a visit to the gym and not think twice about my long shower af
terward.

  I nodded at Agent Warren and headed into the back room. “Good morning, Warren.”

  “Morning,” he said in reply, grabbing his phone and standing. He wore a hoodie and a pair of sweats. He was on the streets a lot, and played the part well. When not working, he mostly drank and fucked his way through life. Like me. “They’re waiting for you.”

  “I know.” I grabbed a notepad off my desk, tugging on my buttoned-up collar. “I was running late this morning.”

  “Chasing a lead?”

  I headed for the conference room. “Something like that.”

  We entered, and I scanned the room. There was a rectangular table and Agent Torres sat at its head like always. He was in his midthirties and muscular as hell, and he loved control almost as much as Tate did. Both commanded a room and assumed the authority in it without hesitation or a hint of weakness. Both preferred to be the most powerful man in the room, but still respected strength. If not for the fact that they worked for opposite sides of the law, I bet they would even be friends.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said the second I sat in my chair toward the opposite end of the table. “I was with Skylar Daniels.”

  Agent Warren sat across from me, next to Agent Gilbert—who I had every reason to suspect had once been an item, although now they hated each other. “The sister?” Warren asked.

  “Wait.” Gilbert shifted away from him, her mouth pressed into a tight line, and glowered toward me. “Tell me you’re not using the angle I think you are.”

  I didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Tate asked me to watch over her because things with Bitter Hill are heating up. I’m the only one who knows about her existence, and he’d like to keep it that way. We’re currently next-door neighbors.”

  Agent Torres leaned closer. “Did she give you anything good?”

  “No.” I opened my notebook, picturing her soft smile and even softer kiss. Shit. So much for not thinking about her. “She knows nothing about his secret life, or who he really is. They were raised separately.”

  Torres perked up. “They were? Why?”

  I choked back any guilt that I felt for sharing the information Skylar had given me in confidence. This was my job, and I had to do it, no matter how wrong it felt. “Her mother and father split, so their father raised Tate while the mom kept custody of her. She never saw her father again, so she has no clue what he was or what he did.”

  Torres leaned back, nodding. “Interesting. Think it’s all an act?”

  “No.” I flattened my palm on the cool, smooth table. “To her, Tate’s just an older brother who wants her to be a good person, and do well in school . . . which she does. Her record is as clean as her conscience. She’s innocent. It’s my professional opinion that we should leave her alone.”

  Agent Torres rubbed his chin, leaning back in his chair as he studied me. I met his stare without flinching. “I’d like to remain close.”

  “Why?” I dropped my pen on the pad, grinding my teeth together. “With all due respect, sir, we’re after Bitter Hill, not the Sons. They deal guns, not drugs. There’s no reason we should focus on her when she’s not our intended target, and neither is her brother. It’s my opinion that the DEA has better ways to spend their budget than chasing after innocent women . . . sir.”

  Warren looked at me with wide eyes.

  Gilbert smiled before looking away.

  The two other men in the room—Agent Lawrence and Agent O’Donnell—glanced toward Torres, waiting to see how he responded to my criticism. I typically answered with “Yes, sir,” or “No, sir,” so my mouthful was probably a bit surprising.

  But I had a lot to say about Skylar Daniels.

  Torres grunted and readjusted his position. “And if we do decide to investigate the Sons? Is that going to be a problem for you, Donahue? Is that going to make your commitment to cleaning up our streets waver?”

  I stiffened. “You know where my loyalties lie, sir. I’ve been clear about that since the day I walked into your office.”

  “I thought we were clear, yes.” He slammed a hand down on the table. “Until you started to talk about Skylar Daniels, that is. Until you started questioning my orders. Is there something we need to know, Donahue? Do those loyalties now lie somewhere else?”

  I shook my head, though I ached to slam his face into the table repeatedly until he saw that Skylar wasn’t an asset to be collected. I admired the guy, and he was an excellent agent, but in this case, he was wrong. “My loyalties are and always will be here, sir. It feels wrong to target Ms. Daniels. She has no idea what her brother is, or what he does. However, if you want me to continue to keep an eye on her, I will.”

  “Good.” He glanced at Warren, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout all this. “We could send someone else, if you’d rather. Warren, perhaps.”

  Warren perked up, glancing down at Skylar’s picture in the file. “I could do it, sir.”

  Gilbert stiffened. “No doubt,” she said dryly.

  Let him near Skylar? Hell no. He’d feel no qualms about using her. At least with me, she got a hint of the honor I used to feel. “No, sir. I’ve got her. I’m already undercover, and I don’t mind staying. Besides, Tate has me living next door anyway.”

  “Then it’s settled. We continue watching her and collect intel in case we need it in the future.” He reclined in his chair again, looking laid-back when we all knew he was anything but. Gilbert shot him a quick look, her appreciation for the attractive man obvious. Warren frowned. “Now, what’s their plan with Bitter Hill?”

  “They’re attacking when the clubhouse is full.” I pushed a copy of Chris’s sketch to him, then to the rest of the agents, too. They all glanced down at it, so I continued. “Block the back door, which they’ll assume is open because it’s a secret—”

  “If it’s secret, how was its location discovered?” Torres interrupted.

  “Chris,” I said simply. “He has connections.”

  “And the intel is good?” Gilbert asked.

  “I believe so.” I glanced at Gilbert, who bit down on her lip as she studied the drawing. She was the smartest one in this room . . . minus the whole Warren thing. “So does Chris.”

  She looked at me with shrewd eyes, and then nodded once. “All right. Go on.”

  “The ones who survive the fire will go out the front. We pick them off, one by one, till there are none left.” I tapped the drawing. “Risk free. Easy. Problem solved. Then the DEA can swoop in and clean what’s left of the mess, and take down any stragglers.”

  Warren whistled through his teeth. “That’s awfully well thought out, and heartless, even for a criminal leader.”

  “They attacked us where we’re weakest,” I said slowly, tapping my fingers on the table. “Tate Daniels simply plans to give them a taste of their own medicine . . . and to take them down. He’s as unhappy about the innocent lives being wasted as we are.”

  “How . . . noble,” Torres said, watching me closely. Too damn closely. “Why, then, did he sell them guns?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “He didn’t know what they would become. Once he figured it out, we stopped our dealings with them, right around the same time when the feud with my brother started.”

  “I see.” He rubbed his chin. “So that’s why the Sons cut ties?”

  “Yes,” I said simply.

  He nodded. “And you’ll be there for this attack on Bitter Hill, since you’re a lieutenant there, and Bitter Hill ‘killed’ your brother?”

  He, of course, knew Lucas was alive.

  Everyone in this room had helped my brother escape to start a new life. A clean life. And as far as I could tell, he’d lived up to that promise. Kept his hands clean. He had a mechanic’s shop down in Georgia, and Heidi had a bar. They were engaged. And happy.

  Whatever the hell that meant.

  “
Yes, I’ll be there, sir, to avenge Lucas. It’ll be expected of me to fight,” I said.

  He winced. “So we need to swoop in immediately after they set the fire, and after the first shot is fired—”

  “With all due respect, it should be before the first shot is fired. We can’t take the Sons down with anything we have, and to bring them up on petty gun charges would be ridiculous.”

  He shook his head. “Not to mention lots of paperwork . . . some of which you still owe me from the other day.”

  “I’ll get on that right away, sir.”

  “But regardless, we need an exchange of gunfire to call it an active crime scene.” He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “You’ll take the first shot, Donahue. Then when we start to come in, you can sound the alarm, and the Sons can ‘escape.’ We gather as much evidence as we can against Bitter Hill, and they’re finished.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  It was a solid plan.

  “Understood. I’ll make sure I don’t hit anyone, while appearing to try to do so for the benefit of the Sons.” I closed my notepad and tucked my pen into the pocket on my shirt. “Are we good to go, sir?”

  “Yes, I think so.” He steepled his fingers. “Try not to get yourself shot,” Torres said, grinning. “You’re up for a promotion after the undercover years you’ve put in, if your SAPP scores are good enough. And now you’re in deep with the Daniels girl, too, which’ll help. You’ve proved to be a valuable asset to the team, and we don’t want to lose you. If you manage to maintain your cover, then I suspect your position with the sister and the gang could carry on for years.”

  I forced a smile, ignoring the judgmental way Gilbert stared at me from across the table. “I’ll try my best to stay alive, sir, and to not disappoint you.”

  We all cleared out, and I avoided everyone’s stares as I made my way to my desk. After I opened my laptop to work on the reports I owed, the phone I used for undercover buzzed. I pulled it out.

  It was Tate. Of course. I’d forgotten to text him an update this morning in my rush to get out of Skylar’s apartment and back to my duplicitous life as a DEA agent/gang member.