by Zoe Hill
I feel terrible that my family’s drama is going to come between them until we can discover what’s truly going on.
“For the record, not that you need it, but I approve. He might piss me off to high heaven most of the time, but I know Chester’s a good one, deep down. Who knows, I might even start to like him if it means you become my official sister?”
“Thank you,” Bella chuckles, rolling her eyes. “But we both know it’ll take more than a few kisses to mellow out that manwhore.” Holding up her hand, she moves her fingers into Spiderman’s three-fingered hand movement. “Anyhow, that’s enough about me. It’s time to put our skills to work. I want my Spidey-senses to stop tingling and you need answers.”
I match her gesture. “Spidey-senses unite.”
We emerge from the bathroom with a plan that puts our spirits in a better place to find Seb leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom. Bella pats my shoulder then flounces past him. He doesn’t watch her go, instead, he stares at me through narrowed eyes. I gaze up at him, searching his face for signs of duplicity. He tries to rearrange his features into an innocent expression, but now that I’m looking at him with a fresh perspective, I can see the tightness around his eyes and mouth.
He’s angry. Why? I don’t know. Despite his declaration of love, I’m not even sure if Seb likes me right now. I am certain, however, that ignoring the possessiveness in his touch would be a big mistake.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask in the chirpiest tone I can manage.
“Of course, flower girl,” Seb replies.
Quirking one eyebrow, he holds out his hand. There is an inherent challenge in his posture. Without pause, I place my hand in his and let him steer me back to the living room where everyone else is waiting. As we approach, he wraps his arm around my waist and drags me out of sight. I do my best not to betray my worry when he leans down until his chin touches the top of my head and murmurs, “I hope you know that I’ll never let you go now that you’re mine again. I’m gonna be right behind you until the day you die.”
Even though I smile up at him like I’m accepting his thinly veiled threat on face value, my mind is screaming with the need to lash out at him. I manage to tamp down on the urge, although I do allow myself a small smirk when he falls in behind me as we walk into the living area.
Seb might think that he’s got the upper hand, but he’s bitten off more than he can chew.
He can remain behind me.
That doesn’t scare me... because I’m a woman.
I have eyes in the back of my head and a perfect elbow strike.
When I’m ready to defend myself, he won’t even see me coming.
THIRTEEN
“Every single person is a fool, insane, a failure, or a bad person to at least ten people.” ~Mokokoma Mokhonoana~
SPENSER
Parked across the street from Poppy and Bella’s apartment building, I try to keep my eyes simultaneously on the exit from their underground apartment and the front doors of the building. My brief didn’t include information about how Poppy gets to work plus having Seb in the mix throws in a wild card.
Right now, I need three sets of eyes and half a dozen hands to keep on top of everything.
This aspect of my job is always the hardest part. Sussing out routines and discovering the weak spots in their schedules is hard. It’s also rewarding once I find where I can slip inside their lives and twist the fragile grasp they have on themselves to my advantage. Eitan or one of the other Coalition henchmen could undertake this part of the job for me, but I prefer to work alone.
It helps me get in my prey’s head and learn as much as I can about them.
Trying to watch two things at once is simply the price I pay.
My phone beeps. I snatch it out of the cradle attached to the dash and hold it in the air in front of my face so I can still see both exits. Jabbing at the screen, the message that pops up is not one I’m expecting.
ZEE DEVIL: Check in at home base. New job needs your personal touch.
ME: Too busy.
ZEE DEVIL: Come now. You’ll be back before Poppy leaves.
His veiled threat sends awareness skittering up my spine. Tossing my cell onto the passenger seat, I slowly look around me to see if I can spot the tail. It takes a moment, however, the flash of someone crouching down behind the steering wheel of a white sedan parked on the opposite side of the street confirms my suspicions. I pick up my phone and tap out a quick message.
ME: Tell your goon in the white Altima that he’s been made.
Ten seconds after I send the text, the sedan pulls out of its parking spot and drives toward me. I press the button to lower my window, then lift my pistol into view as he drives past. Shaking my head when the man’s mouth forms a perfect O, I close the window and settle back into my seat to watch the exits again. I keep my cell in my hand because I know my father will need to have the last word.
ZEE DEVIL: Happy now? Get your ass to home base pronto.
Stirling thinks it’s crass to have our dad saved under his street name in my phone. Personally, I feel like it’s warranted. To me, he is the Devil. The fact that his Coalition contact name is Zee and he never quite lost his Romanian accent simply adds extra zing to the moniker.
If the shoe fits, then it’s a moot point not to wear it, in my opinion.
Maybe if he’d been a better father, I’d have him listed as Dad, like a normal son.
When my cell pings again and I see that it’s my father repeating his command to head to the Coalition headquarters, I throw my phone onto the passenger seat and return my attention to my actual job. Dad is dreaming if he thinks I’m going to ditch Poppy to quickly deal with some asshole the Coalition has tied up in the cooler. If it’s truly urgent, they can call Axel in. He’s almost as equipped as I am to clean up their messes.
The device pings again and again.
I ignore it, even though getting into a text battle with my dad would be a welcome distraction from the tedium that’s threatening to put me to sleep.
“Fi-na-lly,” I mutter when Poppy’s SUV emerges from the underground parking garage.
She’s driving and Bella is in the passenger seat. A Harley-Davidson motorcycle pulls onto the street behind them and the engine roars loudly to overtake them. Once they’re halfway down the road, I pull out to follow. They travel together through two sets of lights before the SUV stops behind the bike at the next traffic stop then peels off to the right as the motorcycle goes straight.
I flick my switch and turn right after the SUV, just as the rear brake light of the Harley is illuminated. Two vehicles behind the women, I can see that they’re laughing together. Their exuberant display curls my lips into a grin and takes my mind off the non-stop beeps erupting from my phone.
Seconds later, the vehicle pulls into a garage. I manage to follow them into the garage and pull past them once they’ve parked because the next available spot is too close. The last thing I need is for the two women to recognize me before my plan to separate them is put into action later this afternoon.
If I hadn’t discovered that I was immune to the burning from Poppy’s touch, I’d be angry that I allowed the two women to see me back at the bar in New Haven. The ability to hide in plain sight is normally a perk from being a hermit.
Not in this job.
I need to remain out of sight until the time is right.
Swinging backpacks over their shoulders, Poppy and Bella dart down the stairwell to the Subway. I lose sight of them because it takes me too long to find another parking spot. I snatch my cell from the seat, shove my ear buds into my ears, select a song to keep me from losing my shit if someone gets too close, and walk quickly after them. Even though I move through the crowd as quickly as I can, it’s too late. By the time I reach the platform, after bluffing my way through the turnstiles by dropping my last name and the promise of a bribe, they are already through the doors of the train. Over the semi-inspirational resonance of ‘Not Afraid’ by Emi
nem, I hear the reminder to, “stand clear of the closing doors, please” being announced as I savagely elbow my way to the edge of the crowd. When I get there, I can barely spot the top of Bella’s head in the packed car as the train click-clacks its way down the line.
“Shit,” I curse, punching at the air in front of me. My skin is alive with flames from all the people surrounding me. Even as I try my hardest to count in my head, I keep being jostled. Every touch makes my temper flare in unison with my body. I start slapping at my arms as I dance out of everyone’s way.
“Fuck me,” I groan as I manage to wind my way through the surging bodies in the platform without completely losing my shit. “Fuck me dead.”
“No thanks,” a drunk leaning against the grimy wall shouts as I pass. “I don’t do crazy, rich boys.”
Scowling at him, I bite back the urge to flatten him on the spot. He grins at me as I tip toe my way through the crowd that’s flowing down the stairs. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. One, two...” I repeatedly count as I make my way back to the turnstiles. The transit officer holds her hand out when she sees me, and I slip her the hundred-dollar bill I promised. “For your trouble.”
She’s busy, which helps me avoid exchanging more than a tense and very fake smile with her. As I head back into the garage, counting the entire way, I thank my lucky stars that I was carrying cash today. I normally travel with a black AMEX that is hardly ever used since I live in the shadows.
Every move I make is pre-planned and pre-paid.
Trailing Poppy Tennyson is proving to be anything but cut and dry.
Logically, I understand that her spontaneous trip on the Subway was caused by the two women’s desire to shake their Samaritan’s Soldiers MC escort and not to thwart my tag.
Doesn’t make being outsmarted by the two women any more palatable.
I collapse in the front seat of my Bentley. Sliding the seat as far back as it will go, I jam my head between my knees. Reciting up to twelve in my head to the rhythm of “Odd One” by Sick Puppies blaring in my ears, I attempt to steady my breathing using every technique in my arsenal.
Slowly, agonizingly so, I mentally douse the flames that are trying to incinerate me from the inside out.
Regaining control isn’t an easy process.
Being a broken human hurts on the best of days.
On a day like today, where I’m being hounded by my father, and torn out of my typically regimented routine by this new job, my damage is more visible and harder to control. If I hadn’t had a taste of normalcy with Poppy last night, my suicidal ideation would be hard to control right now.
As I begin to feel a bit more like myself, the rumbling sound of an engine invades the parking garage. It echoes off the concrete walls. I sit upright in my seat and peer in the rear vision mirror in time to see a biker slowly ride past. The scowl I can see plastered on Seb’s face when he pulls to a stop behind me makes the remainder of my symptoms disappear.
Discovering that he’s the biker that Poppy and Bella ditched makes everything I just went through almost worth it. My irrational dislike of Seb, notwithstanding, it makes my mission to destroy the MC a lot simpler when tensions are already festering from within.
Divide and conquer, and all that.
“And what do we have here?” I mutter to myself.
Twisting in my seat, I use my phone to zoom in on the device Seb has pulled out of his leather jacket and snap a photo. He rides off, screeching to a stop when a car almost backs out on him. After kicking in the brake light of the car, he squeals off in a half-assed burn out. Clicking my tongue at his behavior, I pinch and spread my fingers over the screen of my phone to examine the picture I snapped in more detail. “Well, then... maybe the MC isn’t quite as two-bit as I first assumed.”
The device that Seb was checking is a sophisticated GPS tracking unit. It’s better than a phone app, being one step below implanting a chip on Poppy. If I had to guess, the tracker would be concealed in a piece of jewelry like a locket or a watch.
I doubt she’d even realize what she’s wearing.
Glancing at the Jacob & Co. timepiece adorning my own wrist, I can only imagine Poppy’s horror if she ever discovers the chip he has planted somewhere on her body. The shock I felt when I learned that the matching watches given to me and Stirling for our thirteenth birthday would be the first of many trackers that I would be forced to wear remains palpable to this day. Knowing that your family wishes to herd you like sheep takes a bit of getting used to—I don’t think I’ve ever fully come to terms with it.
When my phone begins beeping and vibrating again, as if Dad knows I’m thinking about him, I offer the message thread a cursory glance to ensure that I’m not missing anything more important than my dad’s meltdown.
ZEE DEVIL: Return now or I’ll personally introduce myself to your little redhead.
Without replying, I stuff my phone back into the cradle attached to my dash and reverse out of my spot. I join the afternoon traffic and try to remain patient as I head to the Midtown South Precinct in pursuit of Poppy.
My father’s last message plays on my mind as I draw closer to Poppy’s station. The gorgeous woman is my target, but that doesn’t make her mine. That’s not how it works in the Coalition. The only way to protect a woman is to marry her... and that isn’t on the cards since she’s nothing but a mark to me. Refusing to examine why my mind drifted in that direction, I push away my strange sense of ownership over Poppy and concentrate on reasons why Dad thinks threatening her would cause me to toe the line. For some reason, his texts are becoming progressively angrier, and I’m worried that he’ll escalate to the point where he petitions the Coalition for permission to cut me out of the job just so he can take away my shot at Harrison.
Thinking about being stripped of my chance for revenge makes me nauseous. I’m on the verge of deciding to acquiesce to his demand to meet him at the headquarters when Midtown South Precinct comes into view. There’s free parking out the front, but I don’t pull into a space. It’s too risky to be seen here, especially when I pull into the drop off lane long enough to map out the location of the closest subway entry point to the precinct, and Seb passes by me on his Harley.
“Shit,” I curse as he parks in a reserved spot in front of the building. He jams his phone against his ear and begins shouting at the person on the other end of the call, randomly gesturing toward the top floor of the building as he yells. Driving by him, I mutter, “Way to make yourself conspicuous, dickhead.”
The best thing for me to do is to put some space between me and anyone connected to the Tennyson’s until Bella has been transferred out to the boroughs, and Poppy is suspended. Since the Coalition has a standing reservation at The Plaza, I decide to leave Poppy’s second-rate stalker on his lonesome for now and use our suite to check in with Eitan.
The traffic is heavy enough that I’m pretty pissed off by the time I hand my Bentley over to the valet at The Plaza. I’m able to shake off most of my mood by the time the private concierge has led me upstairs to our suite, and I’ve helped myself to a glass of iced water to give my shaking hands something to do.
Kicking off my black, crocodile leather boots and suit jacket, I settle down on the overstuffed couch with my phone.
“What can I do for you, Trigger?” Eitan answers after one ring. “I was just getting ready to call you with a quick overview of what I’ve managed to find so far.”
“Well, grab a notepad and pen because I’m adding to your list,” I interrupt before he launches into his update. “Poppy’s got a tail, so my plans have changed. I need the biker casing the front of the precinct lured away, then I want the timeline for the other pieces of this scenario moved up.”
“Give me fifteen minutes... how do you want the biker dealt with? A permanent solution or a temporary distraction?”
I pause to mull over my decision. My directions were clear—find out what Poppy and Bella know, destroy any evidenc
e and them, then take out the rest of the MC to secure the Coalition’s trade routes and my shot at my evil uncle. I’d be jumping the gun if I went after Seb too early, and his demise might alert the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC that Oliver Tennyson’s—still unconfirmed—death isn’t going to be a one-off incident.
“Her tail is Sebastian Grant. I’m assuming that her family sent him to watch her... have you found anything that should bump him to the top of my list?”
“Not yet. He’s turning out to be another ghost with no life beyond his role with the Samaritan’s Soldiers. The MC is so adept at covering their real identities that even their affiliated chapters kept their records locked down tight so I can’t backdoor my way into the main system. Whoever’s in charge is good, Trigger... I haven’t encountered a group this airtight outside of the Coalition. Their techies have built a firewall that’s burned through two of my hard drives, so far. I’ve literally got nothing but a headache out of my search.”
“How wonder-fucking-ful,” I muse out loud. Every new detail I learn just confirms my suspicions that my father knew this job would be next to impossible to pull off. “I’m up against the Coalition on wheels... no wonder they’ve managed to pick off our routes. They’re more mobile, equally equipped, and apparently dirtier...” I stop speaking when the emergency phone I carry vibrates against my ankle.
“I wouldn’t say dirtier, maybe holier with a pastor in the ranks and all,” Eitan ventures. “I think you’ve misunderstood, they’re not—”
“Hang on,” I interrupt, reaching down to pull my cell free of its custom-made holster. The only person with this number is Stirling and he wouldn’t be ringing if it wasn’t urgent. “What’s wrong?”