Darkest Night

by Megan Erickson

  Roarke stilled and then leaned forward. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “This isn’t about protecting anymore. I’m taking down every bastard involved with what happened to Fiona. Darren’s down. Now’s time to take out his minions.”

  When Darren Saltner was arrested, they’d suspected someone else would rise up to fill his shoes. If Maximus was carrying through on his threat against Fiona, then he had to be protecting something else—like his investments.

  “I’m sure they’re running scared or fighting each other for top dog,” Jock continued. “I don’t give a fuck about them because they’re all going to pay.”

  Roarke inhaled sharply. Jock could see the gears turning. If there was one thing about Roarke, it was that he didn’t like to be told what to do. Jock knew it rankled him that Maximus had told them to stay away from this operation, to let it thrive. But none of them really wanted that. They knew what kind of damage this did to women like Fiona.

  “And Maximus?” Roarke said softly. “He’s watching us. Even if he can’t trace any of this back to us, he’s not going to care. He’ll hold us responsible. It’ll start a war.”

  “Then I guess we start a war.” Jock drained the beer and tossed the bottle into the sink with a clatter.

  “Who you doing this for?” Roarke said sharply. He pointed up the stairs where the women had gone. “Her? You? Jonathan?”

  Jock clenched his jaw at his brother’s name but didn’t answer.

  Roarke sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair. “Let me talk to the crew. You understand we gotta ask them to sign off on this, right? Bringing this shit storm on their heads without a heads-up or a chance to get away is shitty.”

  He was right. Marisol, Erick, even Dade—they’d be drawn into this by association. Jock nodded.

  “I’ll ask if they want in, or if they want out.”

  “Explain—” Jock cut himself off, gritting his teeth. “This is for me. You do this for me and Fiona, I’ll owe.”

  Roarke nodded and rapped his knuckles on the table. “I will.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Fiona hadn’t seen her friend since Fiona had dropped out of school. Once she discovered her tormentors were watching her, she’d cut ties and run as far away from Wren as possible to protect her. What if the men tried to hurt Wren again?

  It’d broken Fiona’s heart to distance herself from Wren. Even though Wren reminded Fiona of what had happened, she was also the only one who understood even a fraction of the terror from that night. It had bonded them.

  Wren had tried to keep in touch for years, but Fiona had moved so much that she assumed her friend had given up. She hadn’t known that all these years Wren had been learning how to avenge Fiona, and that it’d all come to a head earlier this year. While Roarke had been getting revenge for the death of his brother, Wren had been working to take down the men who’d hurt Fiona. The thought of Wren putting herself in harm’s way for Fiona took her breath away. She mourned all the years she’d avoided Wren, all the time they had lost.

  Now they sat cross-legged on the large king-sized bed in the master bedroom of the townhouse, which incidentally was the cutest thing Fiona had ever seen. The home sat on a quiet block off the main street of a small Virginia town. The neighborhood consisted of six rows of townhouses, four wide. Theirs sat along the side of a cul-de-sac. In another life, this would have been perfect, a home that would be more of a starter for some, but for Fiona it was all she needed. But this wasn’t real; this wasn’t hers—a home she’d worked hard for and earned—and the ring on her finger was an act.

  The master bedroom was done in lavender, and Fiona’s gut clenched at the sight of it. It’d been her favorite color back when she’d lived with Wren. So her friend had gone out and decorated the room with Fiona in mind.

  Wren held Fiona’s hand in her own, her fingers tipped with black polish. “I know you made me promise never to tell anyone—” Wren began.

  Fiona shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”

  “But can I explain better? Our last phone call was rushed. And I really want to make sure you understand how seriously I treated that promise. Because I knew how much it meant to you.”

  It did. It was the one thing Fiona had made Wren promise. That after Fiona returned and got well—sort of—that they’d put it behind them. Now Fiona knew Wren hadn’t. Not one bit. She’d dedicated her life to revenge. “Okay.”

  “I only told Roarke when I felt like I had no other options. He wanted to protect me, too, and I had gotten in over my head. Then when Maximus mentioned you, we couldn’t let you hang in the breeze. We’ve taken down one boss but we haven’t been able to dismantle his operation. His men are the ones looking to save their skins by cutting off loose ends.”

  Fiona swallowed. “Me.” Back in New York, Wren had explained the complicated web to Fiona. And while she was still sketchy on this mysterious hacker, she knew the threat was real.

  “I’m sorry,” Wren said. “This is so much deeper and even more fucked up than I thought.”

  “Me too,” Fiona said. “I didn’t think it went high, but Jock explained it does. And if it wasn’t for him, they’d have me again.”

  Wren’s hand squeezed hers. “I heard. I’m sorry.”

  Fiona shrugged. “If you hadn’t started the attack on the sex ring, someone else would have. I was a loose end that was always going to be cut one day. You might have sped it up, but at least you know someone named Jock who’s pretty good at protecting me.”

  Wren tucked a piece of Fiona’s hair behind her ear, and God, Fiona had forgotten how good it was to sit with a friend and just relax.

  “Is Jock treating you okay? I know he’s a little rough, but he’s a good guy.”

  Fiona jutted out her chin, her immediate instinct to defend and compliment Jock. “He’s a great guy. He’s kind and smart and gentle.” She snapped her mouth shut as Wren’s eyes widened. Her cheeks burned, and she had to look away.

  “Fiona.” Wren’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Did something happen between you two?”

  Yes, their mouths had been on private parts. Fiona cleared her throat as she remembered the sight of Jock’s head between her legs, those blue eyes—

  “Oh my God.” Wren tugged on Fiona’s hands. “Tell me! Jock is so…so…cyborg.”

  Fiona burst out laughing.

  “He is!” Wren said, laughing along with her. “I love the guy, but he’s half computer.”

  “He’s not with me,” Fiona said, twisting the ring on her finger. “He’s not at all.” She lifted her head to focus on Wren and spoke seriously. “I haven’t dated. I have avoided anyone touching me. I tried and couldn’t do it. And I know Jock isn’t some magical person that’s going to heal me, but he’s showing me I can be healed. I can move on from what happened. I can be whole again.”

  “Fiona,” Wren whispered. “Sweetheart, I’m so glad.”

  “I like him. I feel safe with him. And so if all this had to happen for me to meet him and to see you again, then it was fate. Or something.” She looked up quickly. “I’m not saying I’m going to marry him or he’s my Prince Charming, but he’s who I needed right now. And I didn’t realize it.” Even as she said the words, though, imagining moving on to someone other than Jock didn’t sound as appealing. She liked him. She wanted him. For now, what they had would have to do.

  She gave herself a little shake. “Enough about me. Tell me about Roarke! I remember you mentioning your brother’s best friend in school. And now you’re together?”

  Wren’s face flushed. “Yeah. And he fought it, then I fought it, and who knows what the future holds, with the kind of lives we live. But we decided to stop fighting against each other and fight together. I love him, so much. And every day, he lets me know how much he values me.”

  “I’m happy for you,” Fiona said. “So happy.”

  “I’m still mad at him for spying on my life for ten years.”

  “What?”

&
nbsp; “Oh yeah, the sneaky hacker. Remember when I won gas for a year from that radio show?”

  “No!” Fiona gasped.

  “Yes! He made sure I won. How freaking creepy is that?”

  “Creepy and kinda romantic.” Fiona said.

  Wren snorted. “Whatever.” But she was smiling as she picked at the hem of her jeans. “We should probably get back to the guys. I want you to know, though: you’re not alone, not at all. We’re going to talk to our crew, and if I know them, they’ll join us to do what we need to do. This is just beginning, and we’re not going to sit back and let them fuck with you. Okay?”

  “This is weird,” Fiona confessed. “I’ve been alone, watching my own back for so long…”

  “I know,” Wren said, scooting closer and drawing Fiona into her arms. “It kills me that you went through that. But it’s over.”

  Fiona closed her eyes, clinging to her friend, worried about how fast she was falling, how quickly she was relying on Wren and the rest of her crew. She didn’t have a choice now, but when this was all over she’d have a tough one to make.

  * * *

  By the time the pizza came, Fiona wasn’t sure if she was more hungry or more tired. Wren and Roarke had left, and so it was just her and Jock in this strange, furnished townhouse, eating pizza off nice ceramic plates that Wren had picked out.

  Since they’d walked in the door, Jock’s entire body language had changed. He held himself straight, blue eyes hard like flint. This was Jock in work mode, she realized. Jock hadn’t liked running. At all. Now, while he was mounting an offense, he was more in his element.

  “What did you and Wren talk about?” he asked.

  She jerked, for a moment worried he could read her mind and would recall all the things she’d said to Wren about him. “Girl talk.”

  He leveled a look at her.

  She shrugged. “Just…about all this. I think she feels guilty for everything. But she’s not responsible for what happened. Only they are.”

  Jock finished the last of the pizza and closed the box lid. “You get what we’re doing here, right? And you accept it?”

  “We’re going after them.”

  “So they can’t hurt you anymore, or others.”

  “Yes.”

  “I hate that this has to involve you. If I could, I would have done this all without you even knowing, without you having to think about it all again. Because we’re going to have to ask you some questions, maybe identify some pictures.”

  He didn’t get it. “I’m reminded every day. Every single time I get my mail, I worry about what’s going to be in it.”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped.

  “Every time I close my eyes, I remember. Their faces, their touch, the needle in my veins that kept me compliant. I remember it all. You can’t wipe that away.”

  “We will,” he rasped out with a slam of his fist on the counter.

  She shook her head. “You can’t. You don’t have that power.”

  He looked away, his fists clenched at his sides. She needed him to understand. She wasn’t sure why, but he had to get it. He had to see how damaged she was. “Stay right there,” she said. She ran upstairs, pulled down the orange shoebox from where she’d stored it in the closet of her bedroom, like always, and walked downstairs, holding it with both hands even though it was like carrying fire.

  Jock stood exactly where she’d left him, eyes like a hurricane. She threw the box on the counter in front of him so the lid fell off and the flash drives and pictures spilled out.

  He glanced down, and when he saw what was in the box pure pain slashed his face and he grimaced as if he’d been struck.

  “There,” she said, pointing to the pictures, the top one showing her tear-streaked face. “That’s what I’ve been through. That’s what’s in my head. Right there, Jock. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for what you’re doing, but I need you to understand that I’m not going to come out the other side of this as if nothing happened. I’m still fucked up, and I always will be, no matter if those monsters are still breathing air or not.”

  She hated seeing him like this. He was still staring at the photos with his nostrils flaring and shoulders heaving, as if he’d just run a marathon. He slowly raised a hand and flicked away the top photograph to see what was underneath. That one was…He shuddered, and with a roar he picked up the box and hurled it at the wall. Photos scattered, flash drives went flying, and she ducked to avoid a CD that went whistling by her head.

  “What can I do?” he shouted. “Tell me, just tell me, and I’ll fucking do it!”

  She dropped her arms from where she’d hid behind them to avoid the debris. She was shaking, but none of this was new to her—these photos, the fear, the memories clawing up her throat.

  Jock was a solid mass of fury. His face was red, hair mussed, eyes a blue-hot blaze. For her. And for some reason, his anger sucked something ugly out of her, calmed a bit of her brain where all the fear lived.

  She stepped toward him, her bare feet treading over the photos that had been sent to terrify her. She’d let them hold a lot of power resting in that shoebox. And now she was walking over them, on her way to a man who made her want more—something better, a future.

  She swallowed and placed a hand on his chest. God, he was vibrating. “You’ve done more in the last few weeks than I ever thought possible.” He didn’t relax at all, but his gaze bored into her as she stepped into his space, trapping her hand between their bodies. “You made me believe there’s more out there for me, a different kind of life than I’ve been living. There’s always going to be that shadow over me, and I can’t pretend it won’t be, but at least I know the sun is still there, and it’ll shine again. You showed me that. Do you understand?”

  He didn’t speak for a long time. Finally the muscles beneath her palm stilled, the tension leaving them. “Jock?”

  “I want the sun for you,” he said quietly. “I want that more than anything.”

  God, God, what had she done to deserve his words? Karma for something. She wasn’t so sure she’d earned it.

  She was scared, terrified, worried what would happen when this was all over. Would they both still be standing? She wasn’t naive enough to pretend this wasn’t dangerous. But right here, right now, she wanted this for herself. “Do you know how to give me the sun?”

  His hands rested lightly on her hips. “How?”

  “Kiss me,” she whispered. “That’s how.”

  He didn’t waste any time. He pulled her to him tightly and crashed his lips onto hers. He tasted spicy, like the pepperoni from the pizza, and a little bitter from the beer he’d drunk. She reached up and wrapped her arms around him, feeling like she’d die if she didn’t climb his big body right now.

  He groaned her name into her mouth, and she wrapped a thigh around him. God, he was so tall, and with his arms around her he blotted out everything until there was only him and her and this moment.

  “Please,” she said, gasping as she tore her mouth from his.

  With a rumble in his chest, he picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he strode out of the kitchen and up the stairs. To bed. He laid her on the sheets and she thought he’d cover her with his body immediately but instead he straightened and closed his eyes, heaving a great breath, as if he was seeking control. She didn’t need it, not now. She wanted him as out of control as she felt.

  “J,” she called, shortening his name because she couldn’t get any more sounds out.

  His eyes snapped open. Something crossed his face, something devastating and beautiful at the same time, while the moon caught on the flash in his eyes. He gripped his shirt with one fist at his upper back and pulled it over his head in one, swift, sexy-as-hell motion. Did he have any idea what he looked like?

  She sat up and spread her legs on either side of his where he stood at the foot of the bed. She clasped his hips, a silent plead to stay put. He did. His chest contracted and expanded as he breathed, and she
leaned in, just enough to press a kiss below his belly button, right where that trail of hair started. His skin was so damn smooth, silk over steel.

  She lowered his zipper and reveled in his soft groan as she wrapped her hands around his hard cock inside. She stroked it a couple of times before she scooted back on the bed. He watched her with hungry eyes as she tried to look sexy. She sure felt sexy under his gaze. “I want…” How did she say this? She wasn’t a prude, but fucking didn’t seem like the right word, and make love sure as hell didn’t.

  He bent over her with a knee on the bed between her legs. His hand skimmed up her side under her shirt to rest with his thumb along the side of her breast. “What do you want?”

  She licked her lips. “I want you inside of me.”

  Jock’s hand spasmed where it held her. Then his head dropped forward, like he couldn’t hold it up anymore, and he groaned. “Baby…”

  “Please.”

  “Last time—”

  “Was last time. I want to try this.” Shit, what if he got that monster touching the entrance of her body and she freaked out?

  It was like he could read her mind. “You can say stop at any time. I’ll stop.”

  She bit her lip. “Okay.”

  “I’m serious. Won’t do it unless you promise you’ll say stop if you want to.”

  Her heart melted. “I promise.”

  He smiled at that. “Gotta get you naked.”

  “You first.”

  He watched her for a moment longer before rising. He dropped his pants to his ankles, kicked them off, and then stood in front of her, gloriously naked, a freaking perfect statue. They could put him in a textbook on the study of musculature because it was all there shifting under his skin. She’d never seen a man like him. His dick was hard, hanging hot and heavy between his legs. He gave it one rough stroke when she spent too long looking at it. She blushed and met his eyes. He was smiling a sexy, self-confident grin that she rarely saw.

  “I love to look at you,” she said softly. “Your body, your strong face, but most of all your eyes. They’re more expressive than you think they are.”