by Zoe Hill
Something in me dies.
Hope. Pride. My spirit?
I stop fighting and shield my mind from what’s happening by concentrating on keeping my breathing regular. I can’t freak out. I can’t scream for help. I refuse to embarrass myself in front of the entire MC. I am incapable of surviving the judgment tinged sympathy they’ll provide while I battle my own shame and worthlessness.
Outwardly, I comply in the hopes my submission will make this end sooner.
After all, what’s another broken piece on the pile of rubble I call my soul?
On the inside, I’m a wreck. Nausea churns in my stomach. My body vibrates with despair. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. As I battle the overpowering desperation that’s pulsing through me and I work hard to clear my head of the panicked urge to scream, my mind’s eye fills with memories of Spenser watching me last night with his hand down his suit pants. I picture his eyes on mine in the darkness as he fucks his fist and calls my name.
It’s enough of a distraction to soften the terror that’s turned my body stiff.
“God, yes,” I moan as I will more memories of Spenser to the forefront of my brain.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Seb curses. His body stiffens, then I feel wet warmth running out of me. Oh no, he’s just come inside me without a condom. The Spenser created, undetonated, throb of desire that had been growing within me evaporates in an instance. Balling my hands into fists, I try not to cry when Seb mutters above me, “Jesus, flower girl. I’ve missed this... missed you.”
I keep my eyes shut when he presses a chaste kiss against my lips and rolls off me. I hear him moving toward his private ensuite, but I don’t speak. My brain is whirling, too busy trying to remember if we used protection in the alleyway last night to answer him.
Thankfully, the image of Seb rolling on a condom after I’d baited him into ripping my shirt down the middle hits me. It buoys me momentarily until I discover that the other times we’re supposed to have had sex, still remain a mystery. I can only hope he was smart enough to protect us both.
I don’t understand what happened. I’ve been much more intoxicated than I remember being last night, but I’ve never blacked out before.
Despite my gut reaction to the contrary, I must have said something to make Seb believe we’re back together while I was drunk. That’s the only reason he’d be so forceful just now. He believes this rough treatment is what I want from him.
“Shower’s yours,” Seb announces. He enters the bedroom, drying his hair with a towel. Leaning down, he nips at my bottom lip with his teeth. “You better get your lazy bones moving. We need to get you girls to work on time.”
“You’re coming to New York?”
He tosses the towel on his spare chair then sits on the bed to pull on his riding boots. “Of course. There’s no way Chester’s gonna let you go back there without security. This was the agreement we all reached last night. Me, Slash, and Ranger are coming back with you and Bella... we’ll check out some leads while you’re working, then camp out at your apartment until we return for the funeral.”
“Ah, okay.” I spy my clothes spread across the floor, so climbing off the bed, I scoop them into my arms to hold them in front of my nakedness. Every inch of me is exposed, and the more I think about the predicament I find myself in, the quicker bile rises into my throat. I choke it down then open my mouth to attempt once again to explain that what happened last night and just now won’t happen again. When he trails a lusty look over my naked frame, I paste on a fake smile and ramble off an excuse before he can suggest that he joins me in the shower. “I’m famished. Can you get some breakfast organized while I get ready?”
“Sure thing,” he replies happily. “Anything for my girl.”
When he stands, I rush into the bathroom to avoid spending a second longer with him. I press my back to the door and listen until I hear him leave the bedroom. My heart is pounding too fast. It whooshes in my ears and makes my legs tremble. When I’m sure that Seb’s gone, I flick the internal lock on the door and twist the taps to heat the shower. Without waiting for the water to warm, I step beneath the stream and hold my face under the torrent. The shaking invades my entire body and tears spill down my face as the water mixes with my sobs of confusion. Sinking to my knees on the floor, I pull my knees to my chest and hide my face in my hands.
What the hell happened last night?
Drunk or sober, I can’t see myself willingly inviting Seb and the MC into my life in New York. Living out of state gives me the buffer I need to be my true self without judgment and censure from those who love me. In the city that never sleeps, I have a routine. A fulfilling life that’s just mine. I have Bella and our other friends, my job, therapy, and the random hookups that make me feel almost normal. It’s free of my family’s need to control and protect me.
My life in New York is exactly that—mine.
The only reason I would allow them to intrude is to find Ollie’s killer. As I attempt to make sense of the missing memories in my head, the suspicions I had last night that I was being kept in the dark by the MC crash back into my head and ramp up my confusion to lightspeed.
Something big is going down.
I’m certain of it. Very rarely do my instincts let me down. It’s what makes me a good cop.
“Oh, Lord,” I whisper against my palms. “Please let Bella have some answers for me.”
ELEVEN
“There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and it should never be crossed.” ~Lewis Pugh~
SPENSER
The automatic gates that hide the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC compound from the road rattle open. From my vantage point on the concrete building that houses a local mechanic’s workshop, I peer through my binoculars and watch the procession of motorcycles leaving. The first two I identify as the younger guys who were with the Tennyson siblings at the pub last night.
Sabella Archimedes pulls out behind them. I search the SUV for signs of Poppy, but the front passenger seat is empty, and the back seat and rear carriage area are filled with bags. The deep line between her black eyebrows and softer lines bracketing her mouth tells me that she’s displeased about something. Her grip on the steering wheel is aggressive and she keeps switching her attention between the road in front of her and the motorcycles riding behind her.
A hollowness invades my gut when I adjust the binoculars so I can examine the bikes bringing up the tail. Poppy is hanging onto the big man riding the line in the middle of the road behind the SUV. My expression becomes as hostile as Bella’s when I identify the man she’s riding with. When they pull to a quick stop at the crossroads and Seb lays a big paw on Poppy’s thigh, my frown deepens. His possessive hand engulfs her slim leg, and through my binoculars I can see the indents of his fingertips in her denim covered thigh. Despite his fierce grip, Poppy doesn’t peel his fingers off, and an irrational level of annoyance that they have sorted out their post-fuck issues from last night, makes me grind my teeth. I try to tell myself that my response is frustration that his presence will make it harder for me to scope out Poppy and Bella. Still the aching cavern that grows in my chest when Poppy ducks low into his back and leans with him as the motorcycle pulls out onto the main street belies my attempt to bullshit myself.
Poppy has infected me with hope and that’s dangerous.
Instead of concentrating on the rock-solid plan I created with my vast web of associates this morning, my mind is twisted up from my encounter with Poppy last night. My need to get closer to her has become personal and my motivation to get to Harrison is taking a back seat. Even this small admission causes shame to war with logic inside my head. Revenge has fueled me for so long that I’ve blinded myself to the fact that I’m not so much suicidal as I am lonely.
The problem is that it’s never mattered before.
Deep down, I know it would be remiss of me not to pursue her as hard as I can if she is the key to a cure for my phobia. Facing Harrison as a fully functioning human instea
d of the hollow husk of a man I’ve been for the past twenty years will make killing him that much sweeter.
Adding to my dilemma is the heavy warning lodged in my gut. My intuition has spent the past seven hours mocking me to the cusp of backing out of this job. The situation I find myself in is a testament to the absence of any kind of benign deity in my cursed life.
Why else would I be faced with the possibility of finding healing in the woman I need to kill to fulfill my dream of vengeance?
I plan. God ignores. Lucifer laughs his ass off.
“Shit.” Checking my watch, I mutter, “Time to get my head back in the game.”
Continuing in the same inept vein as I have since Poppy drunkenly danced her way into my psyche, I’ve spent too long thinking, and they’ve managed to get ahead of me. Since timing is everything when I’m working, being distracted isn’t something I can tolerate, particularly in myself. I pack up my surveillance equipment, then climb down the building that’s attached to the side of the workshop I perched on at daybreak. It was the best vantage point to watch the biker compound with a clear view of the gates and most of the grounds. As I run over to my Bentley, a hiss of pain escapes my lips every few seconds. Stirling might have declared that my ribs would heal in a few days, but so far, he’s been wrong.
I almost regret allowing Theo to injure me.
At the time, letting him hurt me had made sense.
Now, it’s nothing but a self-inflicted hindrance.
Tossing my surveillance bag on the back seat, I pour my sore body into the driver’s seat. With a steady foot on the accelerator that hides my growing impatience, I drive sedately past the slowly closing gates of the SS compound. I catch sight of Chester, Eli, Archer, and Levi Tennyson. The brothers are surrounded by their parents, Bennett and Eloise, and a group of people wearing matching leather vests. Slowing a little more, I pick up the photograph that my main hacker, Eitan Schwartz, sent through after our phone call last night and search the crowd for Oliver Tennyson.
I don’t spot him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not there. During our check in this morning, Eitan couldn’t provide verification for the story Seb and Poppy gave me last night. Although the grief in her expression was real, I learned a long time ago not to trust anything I can’t verify with my own eyes and ears. Including the discovery that information on Sebastian Grant and Oliver Tennyson is missing from the dossier provided by my father and the Coalition, I plan to approach the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC like their VP is still alive and Seb is a potentially fatal oversight.
His exclusion wouldn’t be the first time the Coalition planted an obstacle to test me. More than once, a man they’ve declared dead and buried has popped when Eitan has run a second, more covert search for me. Exercising excessive caution with anything the Coalition gives me has kept me from the smoking end of a so-called ghost’s gun more than once.
My ringtone plays through the Bluetooth speakers in my Bentley. I check the I.D. of the caller on the dashboard. Right on time, Eitan is phoning with confirmation that my next play has been put in place.
“Answer call,” I say as I hit the voice command button on my steering wheel. After the phone call connects, I demand, “What did you find?”
Most criminal organizations wouldn’t be able to use their telecommunication devices with the freedom of those connected to the Coalition. It comes in handy to control everything and everyone of importance in the western world. Nothing we say can ever be used to hold us to account because if someone—criminal, legal, or media—grew enough balls to come after us, individually or collectively, our entire network would use all available avenues to silence them.
The best part of the Coalition is that if one of us goes down, we all topple with them. It’s a simple strategy that keeps the smart members honest and halts power plays by the stupid before they can take seed and grow into a rot that takes us all out.
Despite this, I remain circumspect because I know that Eitan isn’t the only hacker on the Coalition’s payroll, and I refuse to leave a cookie crumb trail for them to use to sabotage me while I’m knee-deep in a job. Especially one like this, that’s shaping up to be more convoluted than any job I’ve completed before.
Eitan drags in a deep breath, then launches into his spiel. “Poppy Tennyson and Sabella Archimedes are due back to work at Midtown Precinct South by three this afternoon. Stirling organized for Luca Zidane to speak to their commanding officer, Lieutenant Ashford. I can confirm that Detective Tennyson will be stood down pending an investigation of the material we provided by midnight. Detective Archimedes will be demoted to the outer boroughs within the day.”
“Good,” I reply. “What allegations will they be investigating? Real or manufactured?”
I catch up with the convoy as we merge onto the I-95 North to New York. Purposely cruising far enough behind them that they won’t be able to keep tabs on me if they’re watching their mirrors, I bite back a smirk as Eitan continues his run-down.
“Completely real,” he replies with enthusiasm. Ten or so years older than me, Eitan has worked with me since the beginning, so he’s aware that I always prefer to work with the truth. It makes it easier to ruin people for the Coalition when I don’t have to have him manufacture dirty deeds. Using the truth also helps keep my overburdened conscience clean. “It was much easier than expected. Our first sweep didn’t turn up anything of much use. She seemed spotless until we went more specific on our second run through. Your father was right... Detective Tennyson has made more than a dozen requests for information on Harrison and the wider Greaves family members, as well as their legitimate business dealings. Once I followed these requests, it became clear that they were all above her clearance level. It seems Detective Tennyson is well-liked by her superiors. One, in particular, Commander Renee Clearwater, is the signatory on most of the requests.”
The mention of my uncle makes my stomach churn. I stare directly ahead with unseeing eyes until a traffic snarl forces me to brake hard to avoid rear ending the vehicle behind the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC convoy. I steal one look, catching the sight of Poppy’s long hair flapping behind her from beneath her helmet. Dragging in a steadying breath, I switch lanes and pull in behind a truck. Being this close to her while I discuss all the ways the Coalition has just torpedoed her career pricks at my conscience.
I push the guilt away before it can take root in me.
She might intrigue me, and I may have decided to pursue her for personal reasons, but I have to treat Poppy like any other target to keep my shot at Harrison. That means hitting her from all angles until she breaks down and confesses everything she knows. Once I have the truth and her trust, that’s when I’ll tap inside her psyche to understand why her touch doesn’t affect me like everyone else.
After that, she’s expendable and it’ll be time to move onto the next target in my dossier—her best friend, Sabella. The only problem with this plan is that when I try to imagine pressing the muzzle of my handgun against the delicate skin of her forehead, my mind rebels and taunts me with visions of her face flushing as she came hard as fuck last night.
Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat to regain control of my suddenly aroused body. Her effect on me is irritating and adds a bite to my voice when I scold, “I’m assuming you haven’t been able to confirm anything about Oliver Tennyson’s death.”
“No,” Eitan admits with obvious reluctance lacing his words. “Apart from his public profile with the motorcycle club, he’s a ghost. No property in his name. No relationships outside his family and the Samaritan’s Soldiers. I can’t even find an unsolved assault or shooting to pursue. Where were you four nights ago?”
“Working,” I grind out as a dark thought hits me.
Surely, Poppy’s brother isn’t one of my kills? My chest tightens as I think back to the name of my mark that night. Theodore Oberon. One of the Coalition’s main fixers until he ratted out Roman Averell to the Italian’s. Unless Poppy’s family has been playing the long game
and insinuated their son into the Coalition as a double agent over a decade ago, it’s improbable that I’m responsible for Oliver Tennyson’s disappearance.
Relief permeating my tone, I reply, “It wasn’t me.”
“Okay,” Eitan replies in a tight voice. “It’s just strange... if he is dead, I’d say it looked like your handiwork because he’s disappeared without a trace. Of course, since you’re the one asking, I’m left chasing my tail for a sign, one way or the other.”
I reduce my speed again when the Harley riding at the rear with Seb and Poppy drops back level with me in the lane beside me. Keeping my attention forward so he can’t see my face, I add, “Keep looking and let me know the second you discover something... also, I want you to learn everything about Commander Clearwater. If she’s signing requests for Pop—ah, Detective Tennyson, they must have a personal connection. I want to know how, when, and why.”
“Will do,” he agrees. “Anything else?”
“Yes, but it’s between me and you. I need information on a Sebastian Grant. As far as I can tell, he’s a senior enforcer for the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC, possibly previously engaged to Poppy Tennyson, and appears close to the family on a personal level. His information was withheld from my brief, hence the discretion.”
“Of course. I work for you, no one else.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“I’ll get back to you before sundown, Trigger.”
I nod sharply, then remember that he can’t see me. Hitting the “end call” button, I push aside my confused feelings in favor of running through my upcoming game plan. Poor Poppy is about to find herself alone in big, bad New York City in less than ten hours. Luckily for her, the man she shared a carnal connection with during a quick and dirty interlude in a dark alley last night is going to sweep in and help her through her pain.
Smiling, even as shame tries to ruin my memory of last night, I pull out from behind the truck to cut in front of the vehicle next to me, then speed through the traffic to catch up with Seb and Poppy. This time when I see her hands wrapped around Seb’s waist, I bare my teeth in a gruesome grin.