They look alike and even have the same mannerisms, even though they didn’t grow up together. But there’s a sadness in Kennedy’s eyes that disappears for a little while when Reagan’s around. Maybe it was growing up in the shadows, hidden away like a dirty secret, that I see on Kennedy’s face. She’s become accustomed to hiding it from the public, but around Reagan’s sparkle, it’s hard not to see.
“So how’s work going, Jude?” Kennedy asks while we wait for dessert.
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Said like a true politician,” she replies and starts to break into a fit of laughter.
“We’re not all full of shit,” I defend myself.
Kennedy gives me a quick nod and bites her lip. “You may be the only exception to that rule.”
“Hopefully, I’m not the last,” I say and smile at them both.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that for the first time in a very long time, I’m completely happy. The nightmares barely come anymore. Reagan’s helped me get over the trauma, along with a lot of therapy. But when the darkness comes, she chases away the demons and helps keep me in the now.
“So how are the wedding plans? Do you need me to do anything else?” Kennedy changes the subject, which suits me just fine.
“Everything is planned.”
“What about the bachelorette party?” Kennedy smirks, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.
“We’re not doing one,” Reagan says, and I’m about to fall off my chair. I know my buddies are planning something big in Vegas.
Kennedy hits the table with her palms, and the spoons and forks jump. “What?”
Reagan laughs and peers over at me. “I’m taking the girls for a weekend in the Bahamas.”
“Oh.” Kennedy’s eyebrows draw together, and the sadness is back. “I understand.”
“Don’t be silly,” Reagan says, grabbing Kennedy’s hand in hers. “You’re coming too.”
Kennedy claps her hands together and smiles. “No boys, right?”
“None.”
“But we can pick them up there?” Kennedy smiles brightly.
“Like we’re beer?” I ask her.
Kennedy turns in her chair and eyes me for a moment. “Don’t act like men don’t use women all the time.”
I throw my hands up. “I’m not placing judgment.”
Kennedy’s satisfied and turns her attention back to her sister. “I promise to behave.” She pauses and laughs. “I take that back. You behave, and I’ll party like a rock star.”
“You do whatever you want to do, honey,” Reagan tells her just as the chocolate cake is placed in front of us.
“Maybe we should do a group trip,” I add, because thinking of them on their own in the Bahamas drunk and surrounded by men has me on edge. They turn to me with furrowed brows. “What? It’s an idea. It could be a lot of fun.”
“Jude, sweetie.” Reagan rests her hand on my arm, brushing her fingertips across my tattoo. “Go to Vegas. Party your ass off, but not too much.” She laughs. “And then come back to me.”
I smile and place my hand over hers. “Do I need to send security with you?”
“We don’t need a babysitter,” Kennedy says before Reagan can answer.
“We’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” I say, because there’s no one in the world I trust more than Reagan.
We’re to be married in a month. She’ll shed the Preston name and become mine. Reagan Titan. It has a nice ring to it. Last year when I entered the race and she became my opponent, I never thought I’d be sitting across from her, engaged, and completely content with my life.
It’s funny how things happen.
Life has a way of doing that.
Slapping us in the face and reminding us that we’re not in control. Maybe things are predestined, and no matter what we do, the events will unfold without our help.
Reagan came into my life at the right moment but under the wrong circumstances. What should’ve never turned into a relationship, let alone love, became the best thing in my life.
I can’t imagine a day without her now. Her sunshine and happiness, shining all over my life and blocking out the darkness that once filled my world.
I can’t wait until the day we say “I do” and start a new chapter in our life. When I decided to run for Senate, all I wanted was to win. I had no idea I’d get a bigger victory out of it.
Love doesn’t give a shit about our plans. It’s more stubborn and unyielding than any of us will ever be. Once it takes hold, all we can do is give in.
Dirty Secret Copyright © 2017
CHELLE BLISS & BRENDA ROTHERT
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Publisher © HEA Inc. January 17th 2017
Edited by Lisa A. Hollett
Copy Edited by Taylor Bellitto
Proofread by Fiona Wilson
Cover Design © Sara Eirew
Formatted by Chelle Bliss
Cover Photo © Sara Eirew
FILTHY SERIES NOVELS
Dirty Work - Filthy 1
Dirty Secret - Filthy 2
Dirty Defiance - Filthy 3
The audiobooks for Dirty Work & Dirty Secret are now available and feature Sebastian York!
1
Kennedy
While smoothing my sleek, chin-length bob in the mirror, I briefly consider getting my long black hair colored this shade.
“I look kick-ass with bright blue hair,” I murmur as I admire the wig.
My roommate Olivia scoffs as she walks into our tiny bathroom.
“You look kick-ass with any color hair, darling,” she says, struggling to pull down her tight black leather pants.
“Did you hit the chocolate a little hard in Switzerland?” I ask with a smirk.
“Fuck no.” She shimmies to get the pants lowered and then sits down to pee. “These pants are just plastered to my skin. I’ve been wearing them for, like, forty hours now.”
“Problems with your op?”
She sighs heavily. “You might say that. But I got what I needed.”
“Good.”
“Do we have any food? I haven’t eaten in forever, unless that shitty little bag of peanuts on the plane counts.”
“There’s leftover Chinese takeout from last night.”
“Sweet. I’m inhaling it after I take a shower.”
I walk into our living room and adjust my short black skirt so the lacy tops of my stockings show. My dark top has three-quarter sleeves, but it’s tight and low-cut, revealing the roundness of my breasts.
“Heels or hooker boots?” I call out to Olivia.
She walks into the living room and looks me over. “Boots.”
As I sit down and slide my black leather boots on, she’s kicking hers off.
“Holy shit, it feels good to get those off,” she says, rubbing the sole of one foot. “And what the hell is up with us flying coach, anyway? We’re out there risking our asses for intelligence information, the least our government can do is fly us first class so we can eat a decent meal.”
“You had a really shitty trip, didn’t you?”
She groans. “The shittiest. I got busted by a security guard, and he kicked my fucking ovaries into my throat.”
“You’ll have to catch me up later,” I say, grabbing my bag. “I’ve got to hit the office.”
“Good luck,” Olivia says, pulling the pins out of her dark blond hair.
The two of us have only known each other since we were paired up at the academy a year ago, but it feels like longer. The training to become a field agent for Greenlight, a black ops intelligence agency, brought us together quickly. We learned how to fight, use weapons, speak several languages passably, and covertly surveil people.
It beats the hell out of the boring desk job I’d probably have if I hadn’t been recruited by Greenlight. I have my brother-in-law Jude to thank for that. He recommended me for this job through his connections on the Senate intelligence committee. Only Jude and my sister Reagan know what I really do for a living. The rest of my family and friends think I work as a personal assistant to a demanding and very private executive. It’s how I explain working crazy hours and not being able to talk about what I do.
As soon as I step onto the sidewalk in front of our SoHo loft, a woman glances my way. Drawing attention as an undercover agent seems counterintuitive, but I learned in the academy that the best way to hide is to stand out.
And that, I’m damn good at.
Tonight, I’m meeting my handler, Rae, and then going to the Loft, a trendy nightclub with a massive underground operation. When I say underground, I’m talking in the basement of the club. Down there, high-dollar drug deals are made, illegal weapons are bought and sold, and more money is wagered in nightly poker games than most people earn in a year.
I got down there once with Alex Hassan, an arms dealer who loves coke and threesomes. Motherfucker bit down on my lip ring while he was kissing me and almost ripped it out.
I hail a cab, and as I’m waiting, a couple frat-boy types in shorts and T-shirts walk past.
“Hey, doll, you all alone tonight?” one of them asks me.
“Fuck off.”
“Bitch,” he mutters.
“Asshole,” I say loudly, turning to meet his gaze.
A cab pulls up just then, and I step in, giving the driver the address of a downtown bar.
Why do men always assume women are looking for a man? I can’t have an actual relationship because I can’t tell anyone about my work. But I knew that when I accepted this job, and I’m good with it. Hell, I’m only twenty-three. And I don’t think I’m meant to be tamed anyway.
The city is lighting up for the night. I love living in a place where anything can—and does—happen. I was lucky to score New York City as my Greenlight location.
“Right here okay?” the cab driver asks me as he pulls into a parking place near the bar.
“Sure.” I pass him a twenty and slide out of the car.
I walk down the alley next to the bar and find Rae leaning against a brick wall, hidden from sight by a dumpster. There’s no one around, but we still have to be on alert.
“I like the hair,” she says, almost smiling.
“Thanks.”
“There’s buzz about a big weapons deal going down soon. Report back to me immediately if you hear anything.”
“Got it.”
“Have you heard from Alex?”
I shrug. “He texted me at two a.m. the other night. Total booty call. I didn’t respond.”
“Good. He’s all about the chase.”
I glance over at her. “Did you ever…”
With a low, single note of laughter, Rae shakes her head. “No, but I knew his older brother. Be careful with him. The Hassans are a ruthless bunch.”
I nod, my heart pounding. Rae has been my handler the whole six months I’ve been on the job, and she’s never warned me about anyone. She’s not the nurturing type. At nearly six feet tall, she’s lean, fit, and imposingly beautiful. Her long blond hair is always pulled back in a ponytail, and her green eyes are sharp and knowing.
Rae was Greenlight’s top agent until two years ago. Someone at the office told me she was kicking ass and taking names on every assignment when she was injured while off duty. A gunman opened fire at a bank, killing seven people and injuring many more before shooting himself. Rae was shot in the leg and was left with a permanent limp, leaving her unable to work in the field.
“Have you ever heard the name Phoenix?” she asks me.
“Phoenix?” I consider before shaking my head. “No.”
“He’s a cyberthief, but on a massive scale. We think he stole more than fifty million dollars in Europe over the past year. There’s chatter that he’s here now.”
“What does he look like?”
“H-A-F.”
“H-A-F?”
“Hot as fuck, but he covers his tracks well. Report back on anything you hear about large sums of money being stolen or laundered.”
“I will.”
“There’s another agent working the Loft tonight, too. Signal if you need help.”
I furrow my brow. “Why? Am I not doing a good enough job?”
“Too much happens there for just one agent, Goaltender.”
Rae only uses my radio call sign, never my real name. She glances up and down the alley and then meets my eyes in the near darkness.
“I’ll be in touch.”
That’s my signal to split. She always wants me to leave our meets first so she can see if anyone’s tailing me. Limp or not, Rae isn’t someone I’d ever mess with. She’s Ukrainian and steelier than any man I know.
I leave the alley and walk a block before hailing a cab to take me to the Loft. It’s about three miles away, and when I get there, I see a line of waiting people that winds down the block.
Putting on my most confident expression, I walk up to the tall, broad man next to the club’s front entrance.
“Eva,” he says with a nod.
“Hey, Paul.”
He opens the rope blocking the entrance to let me through, and a few people in line groan or mutter with disgust.
I come to the Loft at least a couple nights a week, and everyone here knows me as “Eva.” I’ve never had to provide further details like a last name or background, because no one here cares.
My first stop is always the bar. I order a lemon martini, scanning the crowd as I take my first tart sip. I wonder who the other Greenlight agent is here. I won’t find out unless I need backup, so I actually hope it remains a secret. But still, I’m intrigued that someone else in the club is doing the same work I am, likely nursing a drink all night the same way I do.
Does their heart still race with excitement every time they walk in here the way mine does? I knew when I signed on that this work would be thrilling. The rush is like nothing I’ve ever felt, but it comes with a heavy sense of responsibility.
Lives depend on the intelligence I gather. If I miss something—or worse, get something wrong—crimes that could have been prevented may happen. People could get hurt.
And then there’s the fact that my own ass is in danger 24/7. The type of people who frequent the basement of the Loft won’t lose any sleep over shooting me in the head if they think something is off.
And who’d miss me, the illegitimate daughter of a disgraced former senator? My parents would, sure, but I’m not like Reagan and Abby. My father’s legitimate daughters are shining stars. I’ve always felt like the misfit star, on the verge of fizzling out and falling to the ground. My brother Chris is still finding his way, too.
“Eva.”
The deep voice behind me sends a shiver down my spine. It’s Alex Hassan, and though I was expecting him to seek me out if he was here, I’m surprised he found me so quickly.
“Alex,” I say, a smile playing on my lips.
“You ignored me the other night.”
I shrug. “I’m no one’s booty call.”
Alex’s dark eyes darken further as he laughs. “Come,” he says, taking my hand.
I’m coo
l on the outside, but my pulse is racing wildly. Alex doesn’t dance. Actually, he never spends any time on the club’s main level. And he’s leading me past the dance floor, through a seating area, and down a hall that leads to the kitchen.
Good. The kitchen is the entrance to the basement. Alex pushes the kitchen doors open, not even looking at the club staff at work in there.
There are about twice as many people as needed for kitchen work in here, and I suspect it’s because half of them are for security.
No one blinks as Alex keys in a code and the doors to an elevator slide open. He puts a palm on my ass, encouraging me to step in first.
I do, and then he gets in and keys in another set of numbers on a panel on the wall. As the elevator descends, his dark gaze slides up and down my body.
“I don’t like being ignored,” he says.
“I don’t like being called at two a.m.”
He arches a brow. “I’ll call earlier next time.”
“Then I won’t ignore you.”
I know Alex’s type. He’s powerful, used to everything and everyone just falling into his lap. The way to really get in with him is to challenge him. My nonchalant attitude toward him also keeps me out of his bed, which is good. If I have to sleep with him, I will, but I don’t want to.
As soon as the elevator doors slide open, I take a slow, calming breath. I have to take in as many details as I can down here and listen to as many conversations as possible, all while appearing to be Alex’s vapid, disinterested arm candy.
I take a small sip of my martini, wishing I could down the entire thing. Alcohol would help my nerves right now. But I have to stay sharp.
The guns on the hips of the two stoic men on either side of the door we’re about to walk through remind me how high the stakes are down here. To keep my cover, I actually have to be Eva.
Alex puts a hand on the door handle and then pauses, looking at me.
“Good girls aren’t allowed in here,” he says to me, his gaze hard and penetrating.
Filthy Series Page 21