by S. Massery
I shudder. “I have attachments.”
“You have a brother you’re not entirely convinced is innocent,” he snaps. “You had a cousin who was known to cause trouble between our families. Your father—”
“Do not talk about my father.” I glare at him. “Your family is so fucking flawed, too, Aiden. Your charming, sociopath older brother. Your psychotic dad. And the bastard brother who abandoned you in this hellhole.”
He grips my jaw and squeezes. Now I’ve pissed him off. Oddly enough, I love the rush. My face may burn, but arguing also fuels the fire in my blood, too.
“Did Colin kill Wilder?”
“No,” I snap. “Fuck off.”
He laughs hoarsely and kisses me. I fight against him, but he’s still got my wrists in one hand, sandwiched between us, and my chin in his other. If he sticks his tongue in my mouth, I’m biting it off. I keep my jaw locked, but he seems content with what I give him.
“Eavesdropping on half a conversation will give you the wrong idea.” He releases my face. “Now, come with me.”
His hand on my wrists slides down, lacing through my fingers. He hands me a jacket, and I pause. It’s one just like his, supple black leather with silver zippers, but it slides on like it was made just for me.
Wait.
“Did you buy this?”
He adjusts it and drags the zipper up. It’s off center, cutting over my breast and ending under the collar. His gaze runs down me and back up, and he nods to himself. He retrieves his helmet, and nerves swoop in my chest.
I follow him into the elevator, and we stand in tense silence while we descend. The doors slide open on the parking garage level, and I jolt. I don’t know why I assumed he wasn’t taking me… out. Rather to another floor, or the roof again.
But a cool breeze sweeps through the garage, and I suck in a deep breath.
“I want you to know that I learned my lesson from Luca,” he tells me, leading me down a row of vehicles. We stop at a black motorcycle.
“What lesson?”
My mind flicks back to Amelie.
“I won’t keep you locked up.” He gives me a half-grin. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”
The scar on Amelie’s forehead—and the haunted look in her eyes—was enough to give me nightmares. I’d never been so grateful to be able to do something. To have a task, a challenge, hell, a mission. And it was successful.
“Do you hold it against me?” I ask. “The fact that I helped her escape?”
He shakes his head and traces his finger over my knuckles. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because Luca was acting out of fear.”
I eye him. “And what are you doing?”
“I’m not afraid.” He raises another helmet and slides it on my head. He latches the strap under my chin. The visor is up, so I don’t miss the dark gleam in his eyes. He watches me like a predator would watch prey. “I don’t scare easy, princess.”
I laugh. “Right.”
He puts on his own helmet and smirks. “Ready for some fun?”
Am I ever. But I’m not nervous. Shouldn’t I be? Shouldn’t I be… I don’t know, afraid? I’ve never been on a motorcycle before, but I mimic him and swing my leg over, sliding down until my front is flush with his back. He reaches back and flicks my visor down, then does the same for his own.
The engine turns over with a mighty roar. I wrap my arms around his waist—I’m not one of those girls who will need to be told to hold on tighter. Pretty sure I’ve got a death grip.
Not nervous, just smart.
His laugh rumbles his chest over the bike’s vibrations, and he pats my hand.
And then we’re off, speeding into the night.
The wind whips my hair back, billowing out from under my helmet. I have the urge to throw my arms out wide, but we weave between cars to get out of the city. The way we lean is terrifying at first, and I squeeze Aiden hard the first few times.
I can’t risk losing my balance—or worse, falling.
But it gets easier the farther we go, making our way through late-evening traffic. It isn’t too bad on the quieter roads, but we hit a stretch that has too many restaurants and clubs, and I think we might suffocate on the number of vehicles in our way.
Soon enough, it thins out again.
He guns it, and we fly through an intersection, and my stomach is suspended for a moment. I’m breathless until we’re clear of it, then up a ramp and onto a deserted highway.
I lean slightly to the left to see around Aiden. We cut west, over one of the many bridges connecting Manhattan to the rest of the world, then south. It isn’t long before we cross into New Jersey. I take in a deep breath and force myself to relish this moment. It would be so easy to disregard it. To think that this is something I should expect.
It’s not—it’s a gift.
How easy would it have been for Aiden to keep me away in his apartment until the wedding? And even after?
Luca did it with minimal grief to Amelie… at least, until after.
I can’t imagine loving someone so much to forgive them. To allow them the power to hurt me again. Aiden’s hurt everyone around me, but he treats me like I’m precious. My mind can’t reconcile it.
Isn’t every transgression against my family against me, too?
The bike slowing distracts me from my worrying, and I glance around. We turn onto a dirt road, off the beaten path, and stop. He kills the engine, then removes his helmet. I follow, undoing the buckle and dragging it up. I can’t see it, but my hair feels like a rat’s nest. I quickly smooth it and ignore the blush working its way up my neck.
We dismount, and he takes the helmet from me, then my hand. “Do you trust me?”
I swallow. “Why?”
He narrows his eyes.
Okay, then. “I trust you as far as I can throw you,” I mutter. “I don’t trust you not to kill the rest of my family.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.”
“Why?” I repeat.
He squeezes my hand. “Just stay silent, okay? No matter what happens.”
I grimace. Staying silent is not my strong suit. I used to have to pinch myself whenever I snuck around the house to eavesdrop on Dad’s meetings, a painful reminder of my penchant to just… react.
“Is this like a life or death sort of silence?” I whisper.
“Not your life or death,” he says.
My stomach rolls, but at least the fear of him murdering me in the woods is… probably not realistic. He could kill me anywhere and get away with it. This is too much effort. We step off the dirt road and onto a narrower track. It leads us through the woods, to a small cabin. The windows have been painted black, and the only sign of life is a thin stream of smoke out the chimney protruding from the roof.
He leads me to the door and unlocks it, then gestures for me to go inside.
I glance around at the rather unimpressive cabin. One room. Sink and fridge and tiny counter against the far back wall. A lamp on a table against another—the only illumination.
The real star of the show is the trap door in the floor.
“What is that?”
He just shakes his head and raises his eyebrows.
Right.
Silence.
I mime zipping my lips closed.
He lifts the trap door, opening it completely. I inch forward and peer down into the darkness. It smells like sweat and something more sour. Metallic.
Blood?
“If you don’t want to see, you can stay up here.” He crosses to the one and only door, clipping a padlock across the deadbolt. He tucks the key in his pocket.
“What is this place?”
“Where I get information,” he says. “Stay up here or come down and satiate your curiosity—it’s up to you.”
He descends a ladder. I watch him disappear into the gloom, and I swallow.
You can do this. My curiosity is at an all-time high. And part of me isn’t convinced I wo
n’t find my brother in Aiden’s death chamber.
“Shut up, Gem,” I whisper to myself.
And then I step into the hole.
21
Aiden
Gemma comes down slowly, muttering to herself. She’s cute when she’s scared. Her foot slips off one of the rungs, and she loses her balance. I catch her before she hits the floor.
“Thanks,” she says, then her eyes widen at our surroundings. We’re in a tunnel that extends into the gloom in one direction. The other way has a metal door blocking access to the room where my guest awaits.
“Put your hair up.” I hand her a hair tie.
She quirks her lips but does as I say. She’s brimming with questions—they’re on the tip of her tongue. Wisely, though, she doesn’t voice them. While the sound won’t travel too far, it’s better to be safe than sorry.
I could warn her… but I’d rather not.
According to Breaker on the phone, things changed rapidly.
Rubert changed the game—and we have no choice but to change it back. She finishes tying her long blonde hair back in a low ponytail. I reach around her and tuck the long, silky strands into her jacket, then pull a cap over her head. She makes a noise in the back of her throat.
I ignore it and hand her a black surgical mask. It will cover her nose and mouth and block most of her face.
“Incognito,” she mumbles.
I wink.
She grabs my arm and tugs the mask down, kissing my cheek quickly. I catch the strawberry-pink blush on her cheeks before she adjusts the mask and hat. I love her reactive skin. The way she turns pink—or, if she’s truly embarrassed, red.
“Ready.” She nods once.
I lead the way inside.
Breaker leans against the wall beside the door, and he eyes Gemma. Rubert is in a chair in the center of the room, his forearms strapped down. His ankles are bound together. There’s a ball gag in his mouth, and even in the low light, spit is streaked down his chin. He makes a noise low in his throat, a wail that fills the room.
“Nice touch,” I say to Breaker.
My old friend grimaces. “Short notice.”
“Yeah, yeah, you kinky fucker. Did you even clean it before shoving it in his mouth?”
He glares at me. “No one tastes my girl except me.”
I grin.
Riling him up is too easy. Still, he’s been down here supervising our hostage for an hour. I hook my thumb toward the door, and he slips past Gemma. My girl takes up Breaker’s position against the wall while I stride forward.
I take a moment to acknowledge the unexpected nerves in my gut. She could react to this side of my life poorly. I only showed her a taste of my violence—once directed at her cousin, and another at her would-be killer. This is different.
This is malice toward someone she doesn’t know.
A stranger.
He deserves it—he fucking deserves worse than he’ll get from me tonight—but she doesn’t know that. I’ve left Gemma purposefully in the dark. I hate that I’m testing her like this, but I can’t get her hatred out of my mind.
Rubert glares at me. The noise that first came out of him faded, leaving silence in its wake. He knows better than Thomas McCreery what happens to those who cross us. Who make a bid for power they don’t understand.
And simple intimidation won’t work on a man like Rubert.
I rip the gag out of his mouth and drop it into his lap. He coughs, jerking his arms against the rope restraints.
“You bring your slut along to torture me?” he wheezes.
I tilt my head. He wants a reaction out of me—any sort of anger will just… justify his words. My weakness is standing behind me, and he can’t know that. Especially if he leaves here in one piece. The mask and cap were a ridiculous idea, anyway. Anyone with a brain would know who she is.
When I don’t respond, Rubert’s gaze swings to her. “Gemma West, the princess with daddy issues. How’s he looking, these days? A little ashen?”
She shoves off the wall and punches him in the throat. He didn’t see that one coming, I’d bet. He chokes, gargling, and she glares at him while returning to her position. Her eyes flick to mine, and she offers me a glare, as well.
I can interpret it to mean, You said not to talk, and I didn’t.
I smirk.
“You’re off to a good start,” I tell Rubert. “Pissing off a West… and a DeSantis. How’s that working for you?”
He grunts and gasps, leaning forward to cough. “Fucking bitch.”
I drive the blade into his leg, just above his kneecap.
Rubert screams, thrashing in the chair. “What the fuck,” he yells. “You fucking asshole!”
I shrug. It’s not my fault he’s dumb. I thought he might not be, what with figuring out who Gemma is, but it’s been five minutes and he should be dead twice over. My hands ball into fists.
“Let’s play a game,” I say, dragging a chair from out of the shadows and placing it backward in front of him. I sink into it and rest my forearms on the back. “For every question you dodge, or answer dishonestly, I’ll twist this little blade.” I reach forward and tap it, and he lurches.
“Fuck you.”
“Now, Rubert, you don’t even know what I want.”
“The whole town is talking about your precious fucking Italian marble,” he spits.
I lean back and raise my eyebrows. “Continue.”
“We didn’t have shit to do with it. Just bad timing.”
He shifts, and I narrow my eyes. I hope he lies to me, because I’d love nothing more than to cut his whole goddamn leg off.
“Who approached you to kill the customs officer?”
“I don’t know.”
I sneer. “Sure.” I reach forward, grasping the knife.
“No, no—”
I twist, and blood spurts up from the wound I create. He screams until he gags, gasping for breath. The pain must be bitter, but it will return to a new baseline as soon as I release it.
“It came through the grapevine,” he moans. “Guy didn’t want any connection to us, so a messenger delivered the contract and photo. Money was wired into our account as soon as it was done.”
“What did you do with the product?” Gemma asks. “You can say you had nothing to do with that, but if you were in the area, why wouldn’t they use you for that, too? No offense, dude, but your explanation is fucking dumb.”
She’s right. I was operating under the assumption that there were two separate parties: Rubert’s gunrunners who killed the customs guy and looped the feeds, then whoever contracted them went in and stole our shipment. But it would make more sense for the contract to be for all of it.
The staging, the feeds, the hit. Less mess. Fewer bodies in the shipyard. A smaller risk of getting caught.
He jerks, like he’d forgotten she was there. “A warehouse,” he stammers. “Hell’s Kitchen.”
Fuck. I’ve never wanted to kiss her more. Not just for the fact that she’s participating—against my orders—but because she’s a genius. And I can put aside that she was supposed to observe.
She’s helping.
“Be precise.” She circles us, stopping beside him. She pulls the mask down and twists the cap backward on her head. Her attention fastens on the handle of the knife—her knife—then flickers to me. Her eyes stay on me as she leans down, her mouth next to his ear. “Where?”
Rubert’s expression is pained. “I don’t remember.”
Lie.
Gemma leans forward and yanks the knife out of his leg. She idly wipes his blood from it and flips it in her hand.
She examines the clean blade for a moment, then presses the tip into her own thumb. A drop of blood wells there, and Rubert is transfixed. Hell, I am, too. She sticks her thumb into her mouth, then meets his eyes.
“Try again,” she urges.
Fuck if I’m not turned on by this dark side of her. She doesn’t seem perturbed at all by the scene playing out before
us. The scene she’s now fully in control of. I’m happy to let her steer the conversation, because she’s already caught on to what I want.
The who and the where.
Why and how can come later.
“Do you have children, Rubert?” She runs the blade up his arm and down his front, letting it dangle over his crotch.
The implication is clear, and he flinches. “Fine, fine, I’ll tell you,” he says. “I never wanted any trouble, okay?”
“McCreery seemed to think you wanted to move in while Mommy and Daddy fought,” I say.
He pales. “No, no. I mean, yes, if the Wests—”
Gemma digs the knife into his uninjured leg, and he hisses.
“We thought you were joining forces. It left an opening.”
“You’re mistaken,” Gemma says. “An address. Right now, or say goodbye to the family jewels.”
She’s bluffing. Her jaw tics, like she’s fighting to stay in control, but she doesn’t admit defeat. She doesn’t want to permanently disfigure him—and she definitely doesn’t want to go anywhere near his balls.
Rubert doesn’t know that, though. And when he talks, he sings.
The name of the messenger company that delivered the contract. The details of the hit. How much fucking money he was paid, even. And finally, the address.
Gemma twitches. Rubert finally stops talking, and I meet my fiancée’s gaze. She stares back, conveying nothing, then tosses the knife back to me.
I catch the handle on reflex.
“I’ll wait upstairs,” she says.
Her voice is tired and a million miles away, but I don’t stop her from hurrying out. Breaker comes down a minute later, and I nod to him.
“Have fun with him, Breaker. And Rubert, just know—all of this pain could’ve been avoided had you not fucking double crossed us.”
“Wait,” Rubert yells. “What the fuck? I thought you were going to let me leave…”
“That’s the thing about hope,” I sneer. “It always disappoints.”
I leave, the door swinging shut behind me. Gemma is at the sink, scrubbing blood off her hands.