I hold my breath as my thoughts drift. Those prostitutes from Noimore, Kimmy and Nash, told us all about Jeremy’s new shipping operation. But when did that start?
“How long have they been back in operation?” I ask. “This older organization.”
“Six months, I’d say.”
The exact time Jeremy got out of custody and started his new business. I doubt that’s coincidence. I exhale and shake my head. “Do you know anything about the Vice family?” I didn’t think they would be involved, but Castor’s recognition of my tattoo and his comment about “betraying him” makes me think they definitely are.
Shelby grabs my arm and holds me close. He seems a little unstable, maybe desperate, and I feel the shake of his body through his grip. “What do you know about the Vice family mob?” he asks.
“I think they might be the ones doing all the shipping.”
This wouldn’t have happened if Big Man Vice was still in charge. He never would have engaged in human trafficking. It went against his principles. But then again, Jeremy isn’t his father. He barely knows how to run a proper syndicate.
“That would make sense,” Shelby whispers. “The police. The Vice family. And whoever is in charge of the jails. All three of them. An evil trifecta.”
Who runs the jails? With the police on their side and the Vice family mob doing their shipping, they hold all the aces. Whoever they are, they sure as fuck aren’t going to like a couple of private investigators snooping around their business. Is that who’s after Shelby?
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
Shelby releases his grip on me and sighs. “I worked for them before all this nonsense went down at the railway. For the deputy chief of police in Noimore. Deputy Chief Charleston. He’s got his men helping at every turn—under the guise of making the streets safe, of course.”
“You actually helped them?” I balk. How could he? After what happened to his son?
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snaps. “What was I supposed to do? I’m one man. I needed all the advantages I could get. Working with them allowed me to save a few kids—and to learn a lot of their secrets—but it’s not enough. I have to bring them all down, you understand me? Even if I turned in the officers I have info on, the traffickers will find others. And even if I help bring down the last of the Vice mob, the traffickers will find other means of transport.”
That’s a fucking slippery slope. I can’t believe he turned into one of them in order to learn all about their secrets. And he doesn’t even know who exactly is behind it all. No wonder he wants to catch them in the act—at the point they deliver the bodies to the Vice family.
“Why are you telling me all this now?” I ask. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I didn’t know it would get this bad. I didn’t think I’d be on the run. And I didn’t know for sure the Vice family was involved. My plan was to catch them and expose the whole thing, but now that I’ve been shot and they know I’m after them, the cops are going to kill me. I don’t think they know you’re onto them as well. I think they think you’re just a lowly trainee.”
“I am just a lowly trainee.”
“Don’t lie to me. You know more than you’re letting on, and despite what the news speculates, I know it was you at the construction site. You know this life. You know what these guys are capable of. I need you to keep investigating. We can do this together.”
I get tense and shake my head. No. No, this is too much. I didn’t become a private investigator because I thought the world needed saving and this was how I was going to do it. No—I did this because it’s the only job outside of flipping burgers that I might be good at. It’s getting way too risky, and I don’t want to reengage with the Vice family, not when they’ll know I’m “back from the grave.”
“Forget it,” I state. “I’m not going any further. I’m out.”
“What?” Shelby asks. “Don’t forget our deal. I’m signing off on your training.”
“Not anymore. I’ll do it the long way.”
“Are you planning on turning me over to the cops? Is that it?”
“Of course not. You can do whatever kooky plan you want, and I’m not gonna get in your way. But I don’t have to stick my neck out for you either.”
Shelby grunts and curses under his breath.
My first thoughts go to Miles. That’s the real reason I need to stop this. Rhett is right. I can’t risk Miles’s future because of this. Signing off on three years’ worth of experience isn’t worth jeopardizing everything Miles has been working toward. I should pull out now, find some other PI to work with, and pretend this never happened. Maybe if I stay away from Noimore, Jeremy and his goons will never find me.
It’s for the best.
When Shelby has nothing else to say, I turn back toward the hotel. “I’m going,” I state as I begin the short trot back to my car.
“Pierce.”
I stop and wait.
“If something should happen to me….” Shelby’s voice quavers. I don’t glance back at him, but I can hear that he’s straining to speak straight. “Can you deliver what little evidence I’ve gathered to the proper authorities?”
I say nothing as I mull over his comment. It’ll make me a lot of enemies.
He continues, his voice raw with emotion, “I don’t want to fail my boy, ya know? I’ve struggled so long, trying to get those men to pay…. At least, if I fail now, I want to take that eternal rest knowing some justice will be served. Knowing I can look my son in the eyes and say I never forgot him.”
His earnest pleading eats at me. “Fine,” I say. “If something happens—and only if something happens—I’ll turn over your evidence.”
“Thank you, Pierce. I have it in my car.”
“You have it with you?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder. That’s a risk I didn’t think he would take.
“I got your text about people breaking into my office. It was the cops, I know it. Nothing is safe there anymore. They’re looking for all the evidence I’ve gathered on them.”
Fuck me. The cops are the ones breaking into Shelby’s office? And the ones out to kill him? How do you fight people like that? Who do you even call to report it? I really don’t want those kinds of enemies, but I guess I have no choice.
With a heavy sigh, I continue on my way. Hopefully I won’t have to do anything with this information.
I UNLOCK the front door and enter the void of our dark living room. It’s quiet. Although that’s a pleasant change, I get nervous. Our house hasn’t been this quiet in a while. Where are Jayden and Lacy? I shake my head. Right. They’re with the neighbor. Everything is still within the realm of normal.
How long are his siblings going to be with us? Miles agreed to whole fucking month, which means at some level Jayden’s mother needed thirty whole days to recover from his presence. Pretty quick. It takes me a moment to remember that they’re here for the whole fucking month. Miles’s mother and her boy toy are on some vacation, and Miles volunteered to care for his siblings during that time. I didn’t object, but sometimes I wish I had.
But for now, I’m alone.
The realization gets me pensive, and I hate when I overthink things. I take Shelby’s paperwork—a whole file of pictures, DVDs, records, and bank statements that connect key police officers to the human traffickers—and walk to my closet. Before I hide the information away, I open up the records and search for the one officer I’d love to see on the list.
Just my luck. Lieutenant Rhett Walker isn’t on the list of dirty cops. He’s clean.
With a sigh, I reach my closet door. There’s a storage space in the floor, where I keep my other files, but I remove those, throw them on my nightstand, and tuck Shelby’s information inside instead. This is better than with him? He must really be desperate.
My phone buzzes. Miles sent me a message that reads: you don’t need to pick me up, I got a ride home. I text back, telling him I’m here already, and my thro
at gets tight. Something about his birthday gift has me feeling uneasy. Why? I don’t know. It’s stupid to feel so anxious and uncertain, but I suppose I’ve never worried about the long-term ramifications of sexual compatibility. Before Miles, when I got tired of a guy, or if he wanted something I wasn’t willing to give, I would find a new one to fuck and think nothing of it.
And I never thought—never—what if the other guy isn’t satisfied?
Jesus Christ, is that what I’m worried about? Whether or not Miles will….
I enter the bathroom and turn on the shower as I try to clear my thoughts. With awkward motions I remove my contact and rip off the bandages on my arm, careful about the multitool underneath. I huff and step into the cold water. I’ve got to prep if I’m going to play bitch—at least, if I’m going to do it right.
I lean against the shower stall wall and curse at myself. What’s my problem? I hate the tight feeling in my chest. I never felt this way with Jeremy. Hell, I didn’t feel anything at all with Jeremy. I don’t know if I’d prefer that or not.
Without any haste in my actions, I clean myself. The water goes from cold, to hot, to warm, to cold again before I exit the stall. I dry myself off and hesitate when dressing—what’s the point?—but opt for slacks and a wifebeater.
Refreshed and ready, I amble out to the kitchen and light up one of my last two cigarettes I have stashed away. The burn of the smoke eases my doubt. I exhale, take a seat at the table, and switch on the television, though I don’t give it my full attention. I just want the noise and dim lighting.
A pair of hands slides over my shoulders and down my chest. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, getting my muscles stiff and ready for a fight, but I relax the second I realize it’s Miles. He wraps his arms around me as he brings his mouth to bear on my neck.
“When did you get in?” I ask, tilting my head to the side to allow Miles more access to my flesh.
“While you were in the shower,” he replies in a slow and husky tone. His tongue laps against my skin as he gently bites down.
I switch off the television and take a long drag on my cigarette. “You have fun?”
“Yeah. But all I could think about was getting home to you.”
“Heh.”
He chuckles while he drags his mouth up my ear. The warmth of his body and breath get my heart rate up. “Pierce,” he whispers, gruff and forceful. “You can struggle or you can enjoy it, but either way, I’m fucking you tonight.”
Heat sluices through me the moment Miles finishes his statement.
I stand, flick my cigarette into the sink, and then turn around to face him. The gloom is thick without the brightness of the television, but I don’t give a shit. There’s enough light to see what I want.
I grab Miles and slam him onto his back on the kitchen table, nearly shattering the thing. He gasps in surprise when I get between his legs and pin his arms above his head. With powerful need, I lean down and bite the base of his neck, enjoying the taste of him as I rip open his pants, breaking the button in the process.
He’s hard—fully ready to go and straining his boxers—and tilts his head back with a soft moan. I laugh as I open his button-up shirt. “That’s it?” I ask. “That’s all you got?”
Miles snaps his attention to me, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I know you enjoy taking it, but I thought you’d try a little harder to play top, especially after all your pleading.”
He stares at me for a short moment while I pull up his undershirt. I like feeling his hot skin, and I can’t stop myself from running my free hand down his body.
Miles gets rigid under my touch. “I thought this was your way of saying you changed your mind. That you’d rather not be—”
“You came in here talkin’ like you were gonna force me,” I interject with a smirk. “But by your lack of fight, I’d say this is what you secretly wanted all along.” I get in close and run my teeth along his jawline. “If you want me to be rough, all you had to do was ask.”
“Is that what this is?” he says between low and husky breaths. “One of us is going to force the other?”
“I’d say one of us already did.”
I go to pull down his pants, but Miles brings his foot up, plants it on my hip, and then shoves. I stagger back a few feet as he slides off the table and straightens his clothes. The quiet shadows of our house drown in humid tension, and my skin’s already dappled with sweat.
It’s a good thing his siblings aren’t here. I doubt this’ll end quiet.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MILES LUNGES, much to my surprise—I didn’t think he’d be this quick to force—and we stumble into the living room. I twist and slam him into the nearest wall, rocking the end table by the front door. He grabs the collar of my shirt and shoves me onto the couch, but I move aside when he comes close and knock him to the cushions.
The legs of the couch scratch the wood floor as the piece of furniture slides around with the force of our struggle. I attempt to get up as Miles wraps an arm around my neck and pulls back. We knock over the couch and hit the floor, which loosens Miles’s grip, and I spin around enough to wrench myself free.
I get to my feet and shove Miles while he tries to stand, sending him back into the kitchen on all fours. I get up behind him and torque his arm around, forcing it up along his spine. He half cries out, but he stifles the noise. I grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back.
“Admit this is what you wanted all along,” I growl. “It’s obvious you’re not even trying.”
Miles answers with a single dark chuckle. He jumps from his knees to his feet in one swift motion, pushing me back as he stands. I keep hold of his arm, but he’s strong enough to shove me backward into the kitchen cabinets, the metal handle of one digging straight into my shoulder blade.
My momentary flare of agony is enough for him to free his arm, spin around, and grab mine. He throws me into the table through a sheer show of force, and I realize how fucking strong he’s gotten over the past few months. The far leg of the table snaps after I hit, causing the thing to wobble and crash, but that doesn’t stop Miles from descending upon me.
I try to stand, but the persistent ache I feel through the adrenaline rush is enough to hinder me. The fight at the construction site and the car accident both have taken their toll, preventing me from getting to my feet before Miles grabs my upper arm and manhandles me against the wall, shoving me face-first into the wallpaper.
He twists my right arm back and around in a similar move to the one I had him in, but he doesn’t ease up or even take it lightly. The pain is enough to force me to whimper through clenched teeth.
“That’s it?” Miles asks, mocking my tone from earlier. “That’s all you got?”
I attempt to break away, but Miles’s hold prevents me from getting far. Instead of keeping me pinned to the wall, he pulls me back and forces to me to the ground on my stomach. I gulp down air as Miles grabs my other arm and traps it on my lower back. Panic grips me the moment I feel the plastic zip-tie cuffs fasten around my wrists.
“Miles,” I hiss. He kept a pair of cuffs on him? Has he been worried we’ll run into someone on the streets? And when did I say he could—
I catch my breath as Miles runs a hand over my ass and between my legs. He stops on the bulge of my slacks, kneading me through the fabric. “You seem pretty excited, Pierce,” he says between heavy breaths. “Eager?”
I close my eyes and grind my teeth. My heart beats hard, and I can’t seem to quell the heat and tension in my body.
Miles stands and drags me up with him. I jerk my elbow from his grip, and he shoves me back against the wall, twisting both my arms up into excruciating positions. I let out a yell but bite back any further sounds when he doesn’t continue.
“I’ll fuck you on the kitchen floor if I have to,” Miles mutters under his breath. “But I’d rather do this in our room. What’s it going be, Pierce?”
I force myself to relax
and allow Miles to push me down the hall and into our room. Despite the darkness, he shoves me onto the bed and follows close behind, never really taking his hands off me. With an urgency that betrays his lust, he undoes my slacks and tears them off. Before I can react, he pushes me face-first into the mattress and drags my hips back until I’m propped up on my knees.
Again, he runs a hand over my ass and straight around to my cock, this time stroking me with force. I’m hard and leaking precome—almost moaning with each caress—and I spread my legs to give him better access.
Miles leans over and rummages through our nightstand until I hear the click of the lube bottle we keep there. He coats my backside for only a second before forcing in a probing finger. I bite the sheets and breathe deep, the pain and pleasure of the sensation all too familiar.
Miles fumbles with his pants while he eases a single digit in and out of me, but that doesn’t last long. He pulls his hand away and slides his erection along the cleft of my ass, moaning aloud from the release it brings him.
With the haste of an amateur, he aligns himself and then thrusts halfway in, desperate for satisfaction. I groan into the sheets, the sudden burning agony enough to remind me why it’s important to take it slow. I don’t object, though, and instead hold back my pained cries.
Shaking and panting, Miles hooks his fingers around my hips and pulls me back onto him. I relax a bit, alleviating some of the stress to my body. Miles must take it as a sign of encouragement, however, as he pulls back and thrusts again, his force and urgency building. The moment he gets fully flush in me, he growls in contentment, like the pleasure is overwhelming.
I can feel every inch of him as he rocks back and forth, the heat from his body spreading to mine until I can barely think. When I struggle to move my arms, I’m reminded of the handcuffs—that I’m restrained—and it adds a whole new level of intensity to the moment. He’s going to fuck me no matter what, and there’s not much I can do to stop him.
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