The Dangerous Son (Coalition Collection Book 1)

by Zoe Hill

  Despite the circular nature of the table, I am clearly the bottom rung on the totem pole.

  “What happened yesterday was an avoidable mishap,” Roman announces once we’re seated. My dad murmurs his agreement while Anderson glares at Gareth. “It is, however, a situation that we can manipulate to our advantage.”

  When he steeples his fingers beneath his chin and turns his attention to Stirling, I sit up straighter in my chair. His perusal appears benign on the surface, yet I can feel the menacing undercurrent emanating from him like a magnetic pulse.

  “I want you to take Gareth’s position when he runs to fill the vacancy left by Matthew Payne’s untimely demise.”

  “No.” The objection is ripped from my throat before I’m conscious of its presence. When Axel nudges my foot with the toe of his shoe, I glance his way. He shifts his head from side to side in an almost imperceptible motion. “I, ah... never mind.”

  Trailing off when Dad glares at me, I shrink back into my seat. Clenching and unclenching my fingers beneath the table, I remain silent as the Coalition’s next moves are plotted. Gareth is going to become the next Governor of New York State. This will entrench him deeper into the country’s political sphere and will provide the perfect foil of respectability needed for his older brother’s run for President in three and a half years. With Stirling being appointed to Gareth’s current role as New York Attorney General and Luca Zidane already elected to the Senate, the Coalition is building a formidable presence within the US government.

  Murder, mayhem, manipulation... every suggestion brought to the table horrifies me further. Somehow, even mistakes can be turned into a boon when you’re as conniving as the collective minds of the men in charge of the Coalition. Every marriage, alliance, and death sought by the men at this table advances us toward a single objective.

  Worldwide domination of the global stock markets, political systems, online data storage structures, and natural resources by the Coalition.

  I always knew this was the end goal, yet the ease with which they achieve their aim sounds worse in light of my predicament with Poppy and her family.

  “I’ve spoken to Harrison,” Roman announces in a louder than normal voice. The delight coating his words causes me to lift my gaze from my lap to meet his eyes. I find him looking directly at me with a smirk curving his thin lips. “He has informed me that he’s had eyes inside the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC for many years. Turns out that their moral crusade against our trafficking operations was indulged as part of a larger plan to draw the leaders out. Seems he has a personal vendetta against them that he wishes to settle.”

  Dropping my gaze, Roman locks eyes with my father. “Your objections to this next item of business have been noted. Despite your arguments against this, I’m comfortable with invoking my veto powers and approving Harrison’s request to take matters into his own hands if the vote doesn’t pass. I will also agree that if he proves his worth and solves this problem, his appeal to return to the table will be voted on at our next meeting.”

  My head spins as I attempt to make sense of his declaration.

  Roman’s statement about “their moral crusade” bounces around my brain.

  Does this mean the Samaritan’s Soldiers are the good guys?

  As Eitan’s comments and my own observations of the Tennyson’s consolidate in my head, the truth of the situation becomes clear.

  Is the MC the solution to my problem?

  “Once again, I object to this plan,” Dad advises Roman in a terse tone. He stares pointedly at me before shifting his gaze to Anderson Zidane. “This is the wrong move. My brother was evicted from the inner sanctum for a reason. Allowing him to bargain his way back to the table is a mistake.”

  “Add my objection to Zee’s,” Anderson states.

  Although we’re lacking actual detail about Harrison’s proposal, Anderson’s sons are content to nod their agreement with their father while the Averell siblings remain quiet. They always vote with their father, so voicing their approval isn’t necessary. Everyone knows where they stand. When Roman quirks an eyebrow to silently request my response, I’m unable to make my feelings known. My body is frozen, my pulse sluggish, and my nerve endings numb as I battle to shut down the memories his casual mention of my uncle has set free. Clearly feeling my panic like it’s his own, my twin clears his throat, and with his eyes locked on mine, asserts with absolute conviction painting his statement, “My brother and I are diametrically opposed to any solution proposed by our uncle. He willfully damages everything he touches and will never be welcome at this table while we have a seat.”

  Damon Du Croix glances between the three men sitting at the head of the table and the next generation of sons. His throat works as he audibly swallows, then his expression cracks, and a sliver of fear breaks free when his eyes lock with Roman’s. “I disagree, Zoran. The trafficking routes are vital to maintaining control of the underworld elements of our business interests. Allowing Harrison to take the risk is the best choice.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Roman declares. “As the head of the table, my vote is weighted higher, which passes the motion in my favor. Harrison can move forward with his plans.”

  He presses a button on the table, and his assistant enters a moment later. “Please inform Harrison that his request was approved. He can have his man take Detective Tennyson, and he’s allowed to make direct contact with the motorcycle gang regarding her abduction. If they refuse to meet his demands, he has permission to take whatever actions he deems necessary to defeat them. I want every sign of this gang of do-gooders wiped from living memory by the end of the week. My only requirement is that he sets Sabella Archimedes free.” Roman sneers at Gareth as he adds, “For some reason, she’s important to my son.”

  “What?” I croak as the assistant rushes out of the room to do Roman’s biding. “Why does he need Poppy? When did he take Bella?”

  Roman laughs. It’s a humorless sound that thaws the icicles keeping me captive. The look he gives me as he replies is ablaze with contempt. It sets my skin alight and fans the flames of fear that lick their way up my spine.

  “Oh, Spenser,” he crows, clapping his hands together. “Your ignorance troubles me. Do you mean to tell me that you didn’t recognize the girl and her family during your reconnaissance?”

  “I—no.”

  Smirking like a mercenary shark that’s circling its prey, Roman quips in an airy tone, “If you weren’t so talented at what you do, I’d have you put out of your misery. Sadly, your usefulness continues to outweigh your stupidity.”

  As I mull over his question about recognizing Poppy and her family, a shadowy memory pops free in my mind. When I try to grasp it, an eyewatering bolt of agony begins to pulse over my left eye. I fight back the urge to press my hand over my eye to block out the light as the danger that Poppy is in settles into the pit of my gut like a boulder and the urgency to get to her supersedes my pain.

  I stand, my chair legs screeching against the marble floor before the seat topples over. Slapping my hands on the tabletop, I ignore the blood that runs out of the bandage I haphazardly wrapped around my hand to lean forward and snarl, “Where is she? Who is he using as his inside man? Why would you do this? This is my job, not—”

  Matching my position, Roman smacks his palm against the table and glares at me with hatred in his eyes. “This job is over for you. Harrison came to me with a speedier solution to the one provided by your father, so I’m pivoting, which means you will stand down. If you get in the middle of this, I’ll have Axel deal with you.”

  When Roman mentions Axel, my foot is nudged once again. Shooting a surreptitious look at my right-hand man, I find support in the usually impassive man’s eyes. It buoys me enough to attempt to bargain with the devil standing at the other end of the table.

  “What can I offer you to get the contract for the motorcycle club back?”

  My father grunts when Roman snorts, “Not a thing... you’re done. Push me again a
nd you’ll discover that Daddy can only save you for so long.”

  His allegation that my father protects me momentarily shocks me out of my panic. I open my mouth to argue his point, but Dad beats me to it.

  “Our deal remains in effect, Roman. No matter how hard he challenges you, I still expect you to leave my son out of this.”

  “If he continues to—”

  “This meeting is over,” Anderson announces, cutting off Roman. He jerks his head toward his sons. “Let’s go.”

  Before I can make sense of what’s just happened, I find myself being swept out of the room by my brother and the Zidane men. The fire flares under my skin from their proximity, but Stirling stops me from bursting into flames by keeping his mouth near my ear and intoning in a steady rhythm, “One, two, three, four, five, six...”

  The main doors shut behind us and Stirling hustles me to my Bentley. He opens my door and pushes me into the driver’s seat. With his hand braced against the top of the door, he leans down with sympathy covering his face.

  “Anderson says she’s at her apartment. I assume you know where it is?”

  “Yes,’ I snap as the pain in my head flares once more.

  Starting the engine, “Number Thirteen” by Nothing But Thieves, starts playing on my car stereo. The music provides the perfect reminder of what’s at stake, so I rev my car as a non-verbal cue for my brother to get out of my way.

  He remains in place, crouching down to my level to add, softly, “Her fiancé is Harrison’s inside man.”

  “Ex-fiancé.”

  Stirling’s eyes twinkle. “Well, then... that makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”

  I roll my eyes, hissing when the pounding ache over my left eye flares, then rev the engine again.

  “I’ll follow you there,” Stirling promises. “This is a two-man job and I feel like getting my hands dirty for a change.”

  Before I can respond, he steps back and pushes my door shut. I shove the gear stick into reverse and peel out of my spot. Finding first gear a second later, I slam down the accelerator. My tires squeal as I mount the curb and drive straight across Roman’s immaculately manicured lawn toward the main gates. The lawn is torn up by my wheels and the destruction I’m leaving in my wake would make me smile if the situation wasn’t so dire.

  As I approach the exit, I spy Axel holding his pistol under the guard’s throat. He leans into the gatehouse and the automatic gates begin to open. When I pass, he bows like a butler then flips me the bird. I don’t have time to laugh because I reach the gates in the next instant. Maneuvering through the gap, I hit the accelerator and point my Bentley in the direction of Poppy’s apartment.

  With my brother hot on my tail, a busted and bleeding hand, and the start of a killer headache pounding in my skull, I push everything out of my mind except one thing...

  A prayer that I’ll make it Poppy in time.

  EIGHTEEN

  “You shouldn't have done that which is why you lied about it.” ~Unknown~

  POPPY

  “Talk to me, flower girl,” Seb asks, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. “I don’t like it when you’re sad. Bella might be gone, but you still have me. How about you get dressed and we head out for a ride? Some fresh air will make you feel better.”

  His callous reminder that Bella has left me makes my chest tight. When I rushed into our apartment last night, still sobbing from Spenser’s rejection, I’d called out for her. The bumbling apology that had fallen from my lips was quickly curbed when I’d discovered that the only person in my home was Seb.

  Perched on the end of my bed, he was sporting an angry bruise on his cheek and holding a handwritten letter from my best friend in his hand. His gaze was clouded by worry that a quick perusal of Bella’s farewell note had explained.

  My best friend, my honorary sister, had moved out. She didn’t want to speak to me again, and I was to cease all contact with her, including my “spammy text messages.” Writing about her disgust at my manipulation of her sympathy for me and my issues, her desire to move on from my neediness, and her anger that I had ruined her life, her humbling assessment of my many shortcomings had flayed my already bruised soul into shreds.

  Coming hot on the heels of my burning shame from being dropped like a hot mess by Spenser, hearing my friend’s true thoughts of me was the final straw. My legs had given out and I’d dropped to my knees at Seb’s feet. His touch, coming so soon after Spenser’s, had made my skin crawl. My pleas to be left alone had fallen on deaf ears, and he’d forced his way into my bed with me.

  Sans shoes, but otherwise fully dressed, I asked him to leave numerous times.

  He refused.

  Ostensibly, he promised that he only wanted to soothe me. His wandering hands had told a different story. I’d feigned sleep when Seb started pressing his hardness against my backside until pretending had led to surprisingly restful sleep filled with dreams of Spenser and his talented fingers, and visions of a lighthouse on the coast.

  Waking mid-morning, I’d rolled over and discovered that Seb was gone.

  During his absence, I had the time to think about how much I’d let my best friend down. The stark facts were clear, I owe Bella an explanation of what truly happened and a head’s up about Lieutenant Ashford’s warning to stay away from someone named Trigger.

  Sucking up my hurt feelings, I’d tried to ring her over and over, but her cell went to message bank every time. My calls to my parents had done the same thing. Calls to my brothers wouldn’t connect and Violet’s phone was switched off. If Seb hadn’t been lingering in the living room, I would’ve resorted to using the payphone in the foyer of my building to disguise my number so I could trick Bella into answering.

  Deciding that it was all too hard and that I was allowed to wallow today as long as I picked up my bottom lip tomorrow, I’d settled for plugging in my headphones. Pressing play on the playlist I made, especially for days like today, I’d indulged my sadness. Music is my sanctuary, always has been. When I’m blue, I listen to music. When I’m pissed off, I listen to music. When I need to lick my wounds, I listen to music. I can’t hold a note or play an instrument, but that has never deterred me.

  “Come on,” Seb drawls. His tone is cajoling, but I hear the frustration he’s trying to hide. “Up you get.”

  I hit the button to increase the volume on my phone. “In My Veins” by Andrew Belle blares in my ears. Seb lays his hand on the swell of my hip in a second-rate re-enactment of Spenser comforting me on his couch last night. Indignant at Seb’s inability to give me space and still hurt by Spenser’s rejection, I roll over to take out my anger on the closest target. The movement yanks the earbuds free of my ears when the cord catches in my bed covers and my phone falls to the floor.

  Screaming in Seb’s face, I gesture to the hole in the wall where my door used to be. “Get the hell outta my room.”

  The muscle in his jaws works. His denim-blue eyes take on a lethal glint that barely registers in my overwhelmed brain. “Calm down. I’m trying to look after you.”

  “I couldn’t give a shit what you’re trying to do. I told you to get out.” Springing to my feet, I place my palms flat against his chest and shove him as hard as I can. “We’re done. Have been for two fucking years. I don’t need your help, what I need is for you to return to whatever dungeon you’ve been lurking in since we broke up... and for you to. Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.”

  My hostile reaction takes him by surprise, and he tumbles backward onto his backside. Through eyes that grow wider by the second, I watch Seb morph from his normal affable bearlike self into something out of my nightmares. In front of my disbelieving gaze, he retakes his feet and puffs up into a fire-breathing monster with my murder painted on his face.

  “We’re done when I say we are,” Seb growls. I back away from him with my hands in the air. My dresser is a few steps behind me, and I have a handgun stashed in the top drawer. The maniacal look in his eyes tells me that I’m going to need it. Heed
less of my obvious fear, Seb advances, spewing threats into the space between us, “You’re mine, flower girl. It’s a fucking fact, and the day that changes is the day one of us dies.”

  As I take the final step backward, my foot catches on the heel I discarded last night. I stumble but avoid hitting the floor because Seb springs forward and snatches hold of the front of my collared shirt. The buttons that Spenser so hastily unbuttoned last night rip open, and my tumble toward the floor begins again. My shoulder bounces off my dresser as I fall, and with a cry, I crumble beneath Seb’s weight when he topples over with me.

  Grunting, Seb rolls off me. When I try to push upright, I cry out and clutch at my shoulder. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I push myself upright once more, only to be shoved onto my back by the man my family sent to keep me safe.

  “Who did this?” I’m not sure what he’s talking about until he touches the side of my neck where Spenser marked me last night. “Who gave you this hickey?

  Seeing nothing but pain in my future, if I tell him the truth, I splutter out a denial, “You did. Yesterday morning.”

  “Bullshit,” Seb shouts in my face. Spittle lands on my cheek and I turn away from him when the hot rage in his gaze becomes too much to handle. Seizing on my inattention, my ex-fiancé wraps his hands around my neck and squeezes. Shaking me, he demands, “Tell me who you were with. Now! I want the truth.”

  I reach above my head, searching for the handle of a drawer. Seb is going to kill me. It’s clear to see in his crazed eyes. The thought that I was with someone last night has stripped him of all pretense that he’s a good guy. As I fight for my life, there’s a dull ache in my chest as the truth of his deception sinks in.