by Eva Ashwood
A broken sob tears from his lips. His large frame shudders from head to toe.
Unable to hold myself back, I wrap my arms around him, going up on tiptoes as I hug him as hard as I can. He hugs me back, pulling me away from the door and into his embrace, his arms banding around me so tightly that I almost can’t breathe.
For several long minutes, we stay like that, two separate beings joined into one through raw emotion. Silent tears streak down my own cheeks as we both cry, faces buried in each other’s necks.
With a soft noise, Hale loosens his grip a little. His hands come up to frame my face, threading through my tear-dampened hair. For one second, I stare up into his blue eyes, glassy and bloodshot from grief.
Then he crashes his lips against mine, kissing me with everything that’s left inside of him.
23
Grace
Hale’s kiss is like a hurricane.
It’s fierce and consuming, infused with the same desperate need that filled our embrace a moment ago—a need to connect, to claim. To join us together so deeply that no one can ever rip us apart.
I kiss him back just as wildly, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as my back hits the door again. He reaches down and lifts me up, wrapping my legs around him as he pins me against the heavy wood of his door.
His cock is like steel, and he grinds against me, driving me harder into the door with each thrust of his hips. He hardly seems to notice or care that we’re both still fully clothed, fucking me against the door anyway, hitting my clit in a way that makes me groan into his mouth.
But it’s not enough. I could come like this—in fact, I’m close already—but it’s not enough. I want him closer. I want him inside me.
Maybe he decides the same thing, because finally, he growls in frustration and yanks me away from the door, holding me against him as he strides across the room. He throws me down on the soft mattress and is on me a moment later, his large body covering mine as he finds my lips again. He grabs one wrist and then the other, pinning them over my head as his weight bears down on me.
I can’t move. I can’t wrap my arms around him or slide my hands over his skin, can’t plunge my fingers into his hair. All I can do is kiss him back, panting and gasping every time our lips break apart. My legs wrap around his waist, holding him against my body, and I arch my back, smashing my breasts against his chest as my nipples peak.
“Fuck. Need you. Now.”
The grunted words are barely words at all, but I don’t need to hear anything else as Hale rips his lips from mine and sits back on his heels suddenly, reaching down to tear off my dress.
It goes flying across the room as Hale drops his head again, nuzzling and lapping at my breasts. His teeth clamp down around my nipple, hard enough to pull a ragged cry from my lips, and I grab his head in both hands, practically crushing his face to my chest as pain-infused pleasure travels through my body in sharp jolts. He bites my nipple again before soothing it with his tongue, drawing my breast into his mouth in a deep pull. When he switches to the other side, my eyelids flutter shut, my hips rocking against his as sensation consumes me.
His hands are already moving farther down my body, fingers hooking the waistband of my panties before he yanks them down over my hips. He sits back again to slide them off, and before the small scrap of fabric has even hit the floor, his face is buried between my legs.
My thighs clench, instinctively trying to clamp around his head, but he presses them open again, spreading me wide as he laps at me. He stiffens his tongue and fucks me with it, his nose brushing against my clit, then laps at my pussy again, drinking up the arousal he draws out of me.
I haven’t even gotten his shirt off yet. I keep trying to reach down and tug at it, but Hale is single-minded, almost animalistic in his determination.
“Hale,” I pant, my hips shifting as I try to stave off my orgasm. “I need you too. Please.”
I grasp at his shirt again, and finally, he gives me what I want. With one hand, he reaches up and tugs it off, only breaking away from me long enough to pull it over his head. He keeps his face buried in my pussy as he uses one hand to unzip his pants and shove them down, kicking them off his legs.
Only when he’s fully naked does he pull away from me, going up on his knees between my legs and staring down at me, splayed out beneath him. He fists his cock, his blue eyes so dark they look almost black as his gaze tracks over me.
His nostrils flare, and he drapes himself over me again, settling his hips between my legs as he brings his face so close to mine that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. “Put me inside you, Grace.”
His words make my pulse race, and I slip my hand down between us, wrapping my fingers around his hard length and guiding him to my entrance.
As soon as the thick head of his cock is inside me, he drives his hips forward in one harsh movement, slamming home.
“Hale!”
His name is torn from me as all the breath leaves my lungs in a rush. I cling to his back and shoulders as he fucks me hard and deep, the entire bed shifting beneath us with each thrust. Sweat begins to slick our skin as our bodies find a rhythm together, but before the pleasure inside me can reach its peak, Hale rolls us, flipping our positions so he’s on his back and I’m straddling him.
I don’t hesitate. The need inside me is as insistent as whatever seems to be driving him. My hands come to rest on his chest, my fingernails digging little crescents into his skin as I rise up and then drop back down on his cock, using my thigh muscles to ride him hard.
“Fuck.”
His hands clamp down on top of mine, pinning them to his chest.
His hips arch off the bed every time I sink down onto him, and our pelvises collide with bruising force.
Something unstoppable is building inside me, something nothing can prevent. My inner walls ripple around Hale as he rolls us again, spreading my legs wide to give himself better access to drive into me.
Sweat drips down the side of his face, and his lips pull back in something almost like a snarl as he fucks me into the bed. He watches my face with intense eyes, and the second my orgasm hits, he lets himself go too, thrusting into me with several short, sharp strokes as he empties himself inside me.
He collapses on top of me as his body shudders with release, and we stay like that for several long moments, each of us gulping in air as our skin sticks together. Finally, he pulls out of me and rolls us onto our sides. His cum spills down my leg, but he doesn’t seem to care, and neither do I in this moment. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his body until we’re pressed flush together—as if he’s not ready to let go of this closeness yet. Not ready to let even an inch of space come between us.
His voice is thick and hoarse when he speaks, muffled by my hair as he buries his face against my shoulder. “I wasn’t ready to lose him. I just… wasn’t ready.”
Tears streak down my cheeks, and I suddenly wonder if I ever stopped crying. “I know.”
He drags in a deep breath and pulls back a little, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair off my cheek. There’s something in Hale’s eyes as he gazes at me, his face only a few inches from mine, that cracks my heart wide open.
It’s understanding.
It’s sorrow.
It’s wisdom gained too late.
His lips press together as he rolls me onto my back, rising up on one elbow to look down at me. He shakes his head, his brown hair looking even darker now that it’s damp with sweat.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
He means it. I can hear how much he means it in the weight of the word “everything.” There’s so much between us to be sorry for. So many secrets, so many old wounds and betrayals. So many misunderstandings and resentments.
So much pain.
We could let all of that define us for the rest of our lives. We could carry it with us like Atlas carried the world.
But we don’t have to.
> I swallow, reaching up to brush away the tears that track down his face, a mirror of the ones on mine. “Me too.”
24
Zaid
None of us have slept in days, but it hardly fucking matters.
Not trusting any of his father’s captains enough to bring them in on this, Hale’s main focus is finding the mole and destroying them, swiftly and without mercy. The burden has been put on the five of us to sort it out.
It’s been four days since Damian was gunned down. The Boston deal is still a go, as far as we know, but we haven’t informed the head of their syndicate about Damian’s death. Hale worries that a shakeup like that will blow the whole deal out of the water, and he also wants to keep other upstart gangs from making advances on our turf, thinking they’ve got a shot now that the longtime leader of the Novaks is dead.
“I need a break. My eyes are burning,” Grace says quietly, closing the file she’s been paging through. “Leave that for me, I’ll come back to it after I take a rest.”
It’s past eleven, and we’re all gathered in the living room, going through a shitload of old records Hale dug up in his dad’s office. Odds are low that we’ll find anything useful in them, but it’s worth checking. Maybe we’ll pick up on something Damian missed.
She stands and stretches, working out the kinks in her neck.
Something about her has changed in the past few days. She’s stayed up late and woken early, putting in the same long hours we all are as we search desperately for answers. I can see it in everything she does—a silent determination to help.
I can’t help but remember my conversation with Lucas in the car that day, how we both wanted nothing more than for her to feel like she isn’t a captive. I don’t think she does anymore. After all, the person who ordered her to be kept under our watch is dead.
But she hasn’t left.
She’s stayed.
She’s chosen us.
Hale gives a soft nod, watching her as she leaves the room and disappears into the dark hallway. He looks at the clock, then settles back in to work.
But twenty minutes later, he quietly closes up what he’s doing and follows Grace into those same shadows.
If Grace can be Hale’s salvation, then there’s no place for the twist of jealousy I feel toward my friend. I shove it down, because without Grace, I have a feeling that Hale wouldn’t be as calm and clear-headed as he is right now. Without Grace, we might have lost Hale for good.
The two of them share something that only they can understand, losing their dads in the exact same way.
I’m glad they have each other.
As for the rest of us, we work through the night, no eating, no sleeping. No stopping until the mole is eliminated, and with every hour, I feel us getting closer and closer. Slowly but surely, we’re uncovering a hidden, deadly trail that leads to months of secret work, backstabbing, and bribery.
The files don’t reveal shit.
We’ve gone through almost every piece of paper Hale can get his hands on, and he’s had me and Lucas keep tabs on a couple of people, including Myles. But Damian’s old second hasn’t done anything suspicious, despite the fact that he’s still obviously pissed about not being kept on in that position when Hale assumed control of the syndicate. He’s gone to Calvin’s for a drink a few times, but that in itself isn’t incriminating enough to implicate him. Lots of people drink there—it’s a fucking bar.
“But it’s not just a bar,” Lucas argues. We’ve spent the morning debating our next steps, guzzling coffee and eating a half-assed breakfast. He taps the old burner phone we recovered from Brian’s body. “It’s a bar we know our target frequented at some point.”
“Yeah, but how useful is that?” I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “That narrows it down a little, but not a fuck of a lot.”
“No.” He shrugs. “Unless we can find out exactly when they were there. We need to know what they said to Brian. On that call or any others.”
“Should we just perform a seance then?” I ask irritably. “Ask Brian to pretty please tell us what he knows?”
Lucas almost laughs. If the stakes weren’t so fucking high, I’m sure he would’ve. But not a lot seems funny these days.
“We already had a hacker try to pull shit off the phone,” Hale reminds him. “He couldn’t get anything. It was wiped.”
“So we try again.”
“I might know a guy.” Ciro speaks up, and we all stop talking and turn to him. He’s quiet by nature, and especially in situations like this, he doesn’t speak unless it’s something worth saying. So we all pay attention when he does. “He’s supposed to be one of the best. Should I call him?”
Hale hesitates for less than a second before he nods. “Do it.”
He trusts Ciro with his life, just like we all do, but he also trusts his judgement. Ciro is his second now, and he’s stepped up to the role like he was born for it.
Already tapping out the number on his phone, Ciro steps out of the kitchen to make the call. He returns a few minutes later and gives a nod. “Done. He’ll be here in an hour.”
Grace runs upstairs to shower, and I clean up the remnants of breakfast while we wait.
We all gather in the living room an hour later. The phone sits on the coffee table, an innocuous looking thing. It’s almost hard to believe it could possibly hold the answers we’re after, but Lucas is right. It’s worth a fucking shot. We’re out of other brilliant ideas, and we’re running out of time.
When the hacker arrives, Ciro draws his gun and goes to let him in. It’s not how we normally answer the fucking door, but we’re all on-edge right now.
“What are we hoping to get from this thing?” Grace asks quietly. She’s sitting on the couch between me and Lucas, fingers drumming on her knees.
“Ideally, the hacker will be able to recover voicemails, texts, and phone calls,” I list off. “Also phone numbers, location data—for instance, where calls were placed and to whom. It’ll create a digital trail for us that could possibly lead to our mole.”
“You can find all of that from a flip phone?” She looks down at the little object skeptically.
“Hopefully,” Ciro says, walking in with a man I’ve never seen before. “If he’s as good at his job as he says he is.”
“I am.” The newcomer gives a lopsided grin, holding up one hand in a gesture of greeting. “Keith Medcalf.”
We all stand, instantly alert. Even though we invited the guy into our house, Lucas and I both take a small step in front of Grace without thinking, our stances ready.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Hale offers, stepping forward.
“Not a problem,” Keith says. “Your friend has briefed me on what you’re trying to get out of the phone. If there’s anything to find, I’ll find it for you.”
“Good.” Hale nods. “And you know the consequences if you mention any of this to anyone?”
“Absolutely.” Keith flashes a grin that doesn’t reach his sharp eyes. “I’m here for the paycheck, not the politics. And I’d like to fuckin’ live to see my next birthday.”
“Good, then let’s get started.” Hale grabs the phone from Lucas. “Do you need anything to begin?”
“Just what I have here.” He holds up a clear bag filled with a laptop and a few cords.
Upon entering our house, anything that guests want to carry with them go in a clear bag that we can monitor at all times. Additionally, if he was carrying any weapons, all potential weapons or garments that can conceal weapons would have to be removed. This guy knows we’re not messing around, and if he tries anything… well, he won’t get to have that birthday he was so excited about.
The minutes that follow seem to drag on until I think I might lose my damn mind. Usually we’re all pretty good at mastering our emotions when we need to, but that hasn’t been the case all week. All of us are anxious for any new information this phone could bring, and it takes all my willpower not to hover over Keith’s shou
lder as he works.
He does his job quietly and efficiently, ignoring our agitation as he focuses on his work. Finally, he gives a grunt of satisfaction, straightening a little as he pulls up a document on his screen. “Does any of this look familiar to you?”
We scan over the list of dates, times, locations, and menial texts that look unimportant to anyone but the sender and receiver.
“Nothing that stands out,” Hale says slowly, reading over the list. There’s a bite of frustration in his tone. “Did you find anything else?”
“Yeah. As soon as this finishes syncing, you should have access to any deleted voicemails or audio recordings on the phone.”
Hale nods, returning to his seat without a word. I give a few more minute’s attention to the list, but don’t find anything of interest other than stuff we already know.
One short text catches my eye, and I duck my head a little closer to the screen as I read it. It’s a message from Brian to whoever he was working with.
Secured, heading to location now.
I grimace, my hands clenching into fists. That one was sent the night we rescued Grace from the fucker who used to be her fiancé.
“Ah. Here we are.” Keith nods in satisfaction, interlacing his fingers and stretching them out. His knee bounces up and down as he taps on the keyboard quickly, pulling up a list. “Any particular date you’d like to start?”
“Start from the top. Oldest to newest,” Hale directs, leaning forward in his seat.
Keith presses play on the first message, and the voice that comes from the laptop’s speakers sends chills down my spine. The voice is instantly recognizable, even with the groggy transmission delays and the poor quality of the recovered voicemail.
Leland Bennett.
25
Grace
I don’t immediately recognize the voice that comes through the speaker from the recorded voicemail, but I’m the only one.