Storm

by Jo Raven

  Fucking Rook.

  I have an itch between my shoulder blades. We need to get out of here, but first I need to hear what she has to say—before she changes her mind. Breaking through her shell is damn hard.

  She looks up, those same wide eyes I remember from the first time I saw her, at the beach, boring into mine. “This was all a dream. I knew it the minute you told me who you are. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to people, you know? This fairytale stuff. I don’t believe in that shit. I knew sooner or later the bubble would burst, and I’d drop all the way to the ground.” She breaths a soft laugh. “And it’s pretty high up here.”

  “I won’t let you fall, Ray.”

  My girl. I said it, didn’t I? And I don’t want to take it back. Wouldn’t if I could, because she’s about to trust me all the way. I know it. I see it on her pretty face, in her wide gaze.

  From the start I knew she wasn’t telling me everything. I can read her like an open book. Which is why I trust her more than my own life, and what’s more… I like her. More than like her.

  “I lied to you,” she whispers.

  I nod. Yeah, you did, baby. But that’s okay, as long as you tell me the truth now. “What about?”

  She sits down on the bed where not even an hour ago I held her and pleasured her, where I buried myself in her before life kicked me in the nuts again. “About myself.”

  The girl can’t hide from me, not for a second. She may think she’s kept secrets, but I know her. I can see right to her soul, and it’s bright like a star.

  “Talk.”

  She winces, and I want to start again, to take her hand and ask more gently, but I’m not sure I can. I need her to tell me and not run and hide anymore.

  Not from me.

  “Look, Storm. You don’t know me, okay?”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Ray. I do know you.”

  “Stop. You don’t…” Her voice cracks. She shakes her head. “When I said I wasn’t part of the cons my dad and brother organized? That wasn’t true.” Her small hands clench on the covers. “I was involved. I was the decoy, and the lookout. After Mom died... ” Her voice cracks. “After that, Dad brought me into the loop. And for a while, I thought it was cool. I felt like I was part of the family. Until Dad screwed up.”

  “Screwed up?”

  Raylin’s soft mouth tightens, and there’s nothing I want to do more than rub my thumb over it and erase the pain.

  “It was okay for a while, you know?” she says. “Petty cons, small things. But Dad was spiraling. He started drinking, gambling. Didn’t tell us about it until one day, a bunch of people came around to the bar where we were sitting, demanding money. He’d borrowed from the triad to cover his debts, and they’d come to collect.” She frowns. “He told them off, said he’d have the money for them soon.”

  I ball my hands into fists to stop myself from going to her and pulling her on my lap. I need her to finish this. I kinda knew she was more involved than she was letting on, but the fear on her face is new.

  “What happened, Ray?”

  “My brother… He fired at them. They pulled their guns. Dad got between them. I…” She gulps and damn if those sparkling eyes aren’t filling with tears again. “I took a shot. Hit one of them. And then I ran.”

  Holy motherfucking shit. “You killed one of them?”

  She pales. “Clay, my brother, said their guy was dead. Said I should give myself up or the triad would kill them, too. But instead I ran. Never looked back. That was two years ago.”

  Holy fuck, this can’t be happening. My stomach twists into a hard lump.

  She wipes a hand over her eyes, and her cheeks glisten. “That’s why they’re after me. They want their money, and they want to punish me. And even if it all works out, if you manage to pay them off… They won’t let me go.”

  Hot damn. I grunt and shake my head.

  “This is the whole truth,” she murmurs. “That’s everything. Nothing left. I swear it.”

  My heart stops for a moment, then starts again with a boom. I look down into her dark eyes and I don’t know what to say or do.

  Fuck, I need to sit down. Suddenly everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours crashes down on me. My knees feel like water. I sink down beside her and rub my hands over my face.

  So this is the truth.

  Holy fuck, she killed a member of a triad. How am I gonna help her? How am I gonna save her?

  “I’m leaving.” She makes as if to stand, but I grab her arm and don’t let her.

  “No.”

  “You can’t help me, Storm. I won’t—”

  “I’ll fix this.” Somehow. Not sure how yet. But somehow.

  “You can’t.”

  “I won’t let anyone take you, goddammit.” I swallow desperately, my mouth dry like the desert. “I said I’ll fix this.”

  “Or you can let me go,” she says.

  “I can’t.” It’s clear to me now, and I know how stupid that is, but what the fuck, I don’t care. “I can’t let you go. I’ve tried. Please stay with me, Ray. I’ll kick Rook’s ass out of here. I’ll even get you a fucking cat. I’ll buy you ripped jeans and blouses with sequins. Whatever you want. Just stay.”

  She says nothing, but her face crumbles. I open my arms for her, and she burrows in close. We cling to each other, her slight body shaking against mine. Her tears soak my shirt, and her small sobs are caught in my chest, in my throat until I can’t breathe.

  I love her.

  I don’t know when it happened, and I don’t fucking care. Even when I’m not sure how to save her, when I know I should keep her away for her own sake, when I know she will leave, sooner or later, I can’t shake off the truth of that feeling.

  She belongs with me. And I’m not sure I can survive without her anymore.

  ***

  Not sure which is safer—leaving Raylin at home while I go to the law office to sign the paperwork for my inheritance and then to the company to meet the Board of Directors, or taking her along.

  A no-brainer in the end, because I can’t leave her out of my sight and not go insane with worry: she’s coming with me. The apartment is full of insurance people, and I don’t trust anyone right now.

  Except Rook, a bastard though he is, whom I’d trust with my life.

  “You don’t take your eyes off her, you hear?”

  “I thought you didn’t want my eyes on her.” He grins and winks, and seriously, the guy is going looking for it.

  “You want my fist in your face? Is that it? Ran out of whips to lash yourself with?”

  That does the job. He shuts up. Looks like I’ve hit a nerve, because he falls silent after that and follows me sullenly to the elevator.

  Fucking strange.

  Rook, Hawk and I have traded insults and punches since we were toddlers. It’s part and parcel of our weird friendship. I wonder what put that carefully constructed, totally fake blank look on Rook’s face.

  Filing that for future reference and investigation, I slip my arm around Raylin who’s been waiting for me, dressed in flared jeans and a white tunic, long hair loose on her shoulders, and step into the elevator.

  Sweat is cooling on my back. My stomach is a hard knot under my ribs. This is it. I’m about to claim the Jordan empire, with all its perks, scandals and savage deals.

  Fuck.

  In a daze, I walk out of the elevator, through the lobby, my bodyguards closing in behind us. I’m vaguely aware of Raylin’s slim form pressed to my side, Rook’s solid form at my left, the car waiting outside.

  A limo. Of course it is. Because when I told Rook we needed a non-descript car to ride in, he gave me The Look. The one that says I should shut up before they bring in the shrinks.

  So it takes me a few precious seconds to realize he’s steering me past the limo to a forest-green Toyota.

  “There you go,” he says, his expression still closed off, unreadable. “Your ride. Your driver is my best guy. Cross-checked hundred
times over. That ought to put your damn mind to rest.”

  The unexpectedness of it leaves me winded. “You’re golden, Rook.”

  “Remember that.” He jabs a finger at me, avoids looking at Raylin. “See you at the office.”

  “Aren’t you coming with us?”

  “Nope.” He nods at the limo. “I’m taking your place.” He looks down at his dark suit. “Pretending to be you. Think I’ll pass the test?”

  “Rook, no. Dammit.” He’s already walking away. “It’s dangerous,” I whisper.

  “Meet you at the company HQ,” he throws over his shoulder.

  Of course he doesn’t believe me. He’s just playing along, like the good friend he is, just short of patting me on the head and giving me a candy to keep me quiet.

  “You think he might get attacked?” Raylin’s eyes are wide, flicking between me and Rook.

  “I hope to hell not.” I struggle to unclench my jaw. I scowl at him as he climbs into the limo. “But I can’t fucking force him to be careful. Shit. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Go with the flow or sink. Because the only other option is going underground once more. Taking this car and driving into the Mexican desert for a couple decades.

  Yeah, right.

  Too bad I decided to stay and fight. I remind myself of my decision back at the beach house. At least one of us—at least Raylin should be able to walk away from this alive and free. I’ll do all it takes to see it done.

  ***

  The drive to the law office goes fast with Raylin’s hand in mine. Smooth and without complication. My bodyguards in their silver Volvo follow us discreetly all the way.

  See? I tell myself as we pull up outside the building. Rook was right. Nothing happened. Jesus.

  Raylin pulls her hand from mine and presses her nose to the window to stare at the tall, old buildings lining the street of the business district. My eyes are glued to her shiny hair, the slender curve of her shoulders under the thin tunic, the pale arch of her neck.

  Doubt is eating at me. I really thought someone who’d be trying to kill me would give it a try on my way to this meeting.

  Not that any of this makes any damn sense.

  Our driver steps out and opens Raylin’s door, then mine. We climb outside, into the cool Baltimore afternoon and enter the offices. Blood rushes in my ears, the thump thump thump of my pulse deafening.

  This is it. This is fucking it. As we’re ushered past the front desk and into another set of elevators, a roaring darkness fills my mind. A moment I both longed for and dreaded since I was too young to understand what it entailed, what it meant.

  I’m about to take control. Have access to all files. Piece everything together, if I can. About the company, about the deals. About the night my parents died.

  The night I survived against all odds.

  My bodyguards follow us as we are shown into a cluttered office and seated in old leather armchairs. They stand guard at the door as we are offered coffee, juice, water and a constipated-looking woman pushes a bunch of papers in front of me and a pen under my nose.

  “Mr. Jordan,” she says, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking to me. The Mr. Jordans of my life were my dad first, my uncle afterward. “A pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Ms. April.”

  “A pleasure,” I mutter, though I don’t feel it.

  “It’s a simple process,” she goes on in the same monotonous voice. “We went through the bulk of the paperwork while you were away. I assure you everything is in order.”

  While you were away. The rushing in my ears gets louder. While I vanished and nobody knew where I was.

  Raylin reaches over and touches my knee, bringing me back to the now.

  “I have collaborated with Jordan Enterprises for decades,” the woman goes on, obviously interpreting my silence as hesitation. “My colleague, Mr. Shin, and myself,” she nods at an elderly man in a brown suit who has just appeared through a door at the back of the room, “head this office, and it is in our interest to have you as our client, as I’m sure you understand.”

  “Mr. Jordan,” the old man says and his almond-shaped eyes drill into me until I look away. “Welcome back.”

  Wouldn’t it be nice if I had someone I could trust with me right now, someone knowledgeable about such things as fucking wills and goddamn legal documents?

  But there isn’t.

  Just sign the fucking papers, goddammit.

  Grabbing the pen, I sign everywhere where a little red cross indicates a need of my name. Page after page I scrawl my name—Troy Jordan, the ghost of the boy who should’ve died fifteen years ago in a horrific accident—until I reach the end of the third package, and I stop.

  I glance up. “What now?”

  “Now,” Ms. April says, coming around her desk and picking up the papers, “you are the owner of Jordan Enterprises and of all their assets. You have the majority of shares, and you’re head of the board. The directors are, in fact, waiting for you right now.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “I know.”

  “There is also,” she says, going back around the desk and pulling a drawer open, “a copy of your uncle’s will. He wanted you to receive it the moment you come into your inheritance.”

  Right. Like I haven’t read it. He left me the house in Boca Raton. I know.

  She puts it on the desk, right in front of me and I sigh. Whatever. I grab the envelope and shove it into the pocket of my jacket.

  “Anything else?” I clear my throat, my hands shaking on my knees. “I mean, is this all?”

  “That’s all.” She smiles a bright, brittle smile at me, and I don’t know. I should be glad, but man, this is fucked up.

  How can this be all?

  Raylin gets up, and I follow her example. Moving in a daze, I walk back to the elevator, back out of the building, back into the green car.

  Everything’s okay. No bombs going off, no bullets smashing through the windows. Another quiet, smooth ride. I’m frowning at my reflection in the darkened glass, wondering why I feel slightly let down.

  Then I glance at Raylin, and the world rocks back into balance. Everything will be fine. For the first time since I can remember, I may actually start to believe it.

  That’s when my cell phone rings, and it all goes to hell once more.

  Of course it does. What did I expect? Only get this: now I’ve managed to drag into it my friends, too.

  Fucking A.

  RAYLIN

  We come to a halt in front of a shiny skyscraper, its top lost in the clouds. Jordan Enterprises, proclaims the huge silver sign spanning a good chunk of the façade.

  Storm is on the phone, and I try not to eavesdrop, but something in his clipped answers makes me turn back toward him.

  His face is pale. Sweat is beading on his brow and his eyes are wide and unseeing. His fingers are clenched so hard around the cell the plastic case is creaking.

  “Storm.” I tug at the cell but can’t free it from his grip. “What happened?”

  “Rook,” he breathes. “The limo lost control. The fucking brakes didn’t work.”

  Oh my God. “And? Tell me.” My hand curls around his. “They can’t have been going fast. They were only crossing the town. Storm—”

  “They hit a light post. The driver died on impact. They’ve taken Rook to the hospital.” He finally stirs, his gaze focusing. He turns to the driver, a burly, bearded guy in a suit. “Need to get there right the fuck now. Johns Hopkins Hospital. Drive.”

  The guy doesn’t even blink. He turns back into the traffic and does as he’s told.

  I stare at Storm—no, at Troy Jordan. He may say Troy is a ghost, but he’s right there, below the bad boy layer, a core of steel, a man who was born and raised to lead and do things his way.

  Okay, maybe he isn’t so different from Storm after all. Just more used to getting what he sets out to get.

  His big hand opens, engulfing mine, and he holds on to me as we drive through the busy
streets. His face is still too pale, and I lean into him.

  He lets go only to wrap his arm around me. He likes holding me, and when he looks down at me and I cup his jaw, he makes a strangled sound and scoops me up in his lap.

  “I did this to him,” he rasps in my hair, both arms around me, crushing me to him. “I should have insisted. It was me they wanted.”

  Oh God, he’s right. Has to be. Too many coincidences. “Not your fault,” I whisper. “He’s a grown man. He made his own decision.”

  “He thought it was a joke. That I was spewing crazy.” His breath catches. “I fucking wish I was. But Rook has always had my back. He’s the oldest.”

  “Oldest?”

  “Hawk is in the middle, twenty-one like me but a few months older. Rook is twenty-three. He was always our big brother, our protector. He was…” A tremor goes through him. “The tattoos were his idea. The roses. Sub rosa, said the Romans. What you say under the roses remains a secret. We told our secrets to each other and got the ink, and now he’s—”

  “Shh.” I press myself to him. His skin is cold, and I wind my arms around him, trying to warm him up. “Everything will be okay.” Says the one who’s wanted by the Chinese mafia. Jesus. “Let’s see how he is first. He’s not dead. We have to hope for the best.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” His breath is warm on top of my head. “We have secrets. I have secrets. You told me everything, but I haven’t. Not yet.”

  “Told you trust takes time,” I whisper.

  “I do trust you, dammit.” He sighs. “I only hoped you’d never have to get involved in this shit.”

  “It’s okay.” It’s time to stop running and hiding. So I look up at him and smile. “I’ll take a risk on you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  STORM

  By the time we reach the hospital, I’ve gotten myself mostly under control. My hands aren’t trembling anymore, but my chest still feels crushed.

  I called Rook an asshole. Told him off. Threw him out. When all he was trying to do was look out for me, like every time.

  Releasing Raylin, I fumble with the car door and throw it open before the driver reaches my side to open it for me. Cool air rushes in, and I draw deep breaths to clear the fuzziness in my head.