The Dangerous Son (Coalition Collection Book 1)

by Zoe Hill

  “I knew it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I refrain from commenting that she didn’t have a clue because I realize that it’s pertinent to pick my battles if I want her to trust me eventually. “As I learned more about your family—who I was sent to kill as well—I realized that you were all innocent of the crimes you’d been accused of, and I changed my mind. That’s why I made you leave my suite this morning. I needed space to work out how I could decline the job without another hitman being sent after you.”

  “Did you kill my brother?” She turns to face me as she asks this question.

  “No. I haven’t killed anyone you love.” As the pledge leaves my lips, I have to believe that I’m telling the truth. The names of my victims are too extensive to recall, even for an eidetic memory like mine. “Unfortunately, my boss received a better offer to execute the contract he placed on your family and the MC, and I was removed from the job. Once I was told that you were being targeted by someone else, my hand was forced, and I had to choose.”

  “What did you have to choose?” Poppy squeezes my hand, and I make myself meet her eyes.

  Relief courses through my veins when I discover that the shutters she’s had over her emotions since her apartment have been raised slightly. In their place, a modicum of understanding and a speck of trust has taken root. She doesn’t completely believe me, but she’s getting there.

  It makes my next confession easier to say, “I had to choose if I should let you die or if I was going to shift the target from your head to mine.”

  “And you chose me.” Her words are said as a statement, not as a question. Poppy lifts our hands and kisses my palm. “Thank you.”

  “I’d say you’re welcome, but it feels insufficient.” The tiny giggle she rewards me with is akin to a lightning bolt of happiness shot straight through my heart. Emboldened, I ask, “Any other questions?”

  “Only a million.”

  Switching into the carpool lane, I peg the accelerator. The closer we get to my uncle, the quicker we can thwart his plans. It’s time for him to go down. I’m determined that I will be the one to bring him to his knees.

  After a heavy silence that remains comfortable now that we’ve cleared the air somewhat, Poppy turns in her seat until she’s facing me. She clutches my hand to her chest and watches me with a thoughtful expression on her bruised face.

  “The main thing I need to know is why Seb? How did your boss make him turn on my family?”

  I drum my fingertips against her sternum while I decide how to answer her question. There’s information that I know that is best kept to myself for now. Plus, the ick factor of explaining that it’s my uncle who’s trying to kill Poppy and her family is something I want to avoid for as long as I can.

  Eitan is working on uncovering the existing connection between the Coalition and the Tennyson family, and I’ve promised him that I’ll do my best to remember as much as I can about my childhood. Since my uncle was exiled to Connecticut just before I turned twelve and that is about the same time the Tennyson’s moved to New Haven, Eitan and I have decided that the connection must be a few decades old and rooted in that state somehow.

  “Seb was sent to infiltrate your family when he was sixteen.”

  “No! He wasn’t?” Poppy exclaims in a shrill tone. The last word is said with a questioning emphasis added. She shakes her head, continuing timidly, “What about his sister? She died before the lawyers my family uses could take her case to court... was that all a lie as well?”

  “The truth about his sister is a bit murky. Seems like she wasn’t his real sister, and it was all a ruse to gain your parents’ trust and their protection. Whether she was truly abused or not is just another thing that needs to be unearthed.” I sigh, a weary sound that I feel deep in my marrow. The more I learn about my uncle and his operations in New Haven, the dirtier his deeds become. “What your family does for abused children made them an easy target for someone like him. Not that Seb’s working alone. Unfortunately, my informant is still trying to find his handler.”

  The lie I tell doesn’t sit easy in my gut, however, it’s necessary. Telling Poppy about my family and the Coalition would prevent me from getting close enough to the Tennyson’s to discover their connection with my uncle. Right now, I need to get inside her family’s compound so I can protect her.

  If lying helps me keep her safe, I’m okay with it.

  I’m aware that the complete truth will come out eventually.

  All I hope is that I’ve gained sufficient trust for her to hear me out with compassion and leniency over my liberal use of the truth when my past unravels.

  “I’m tired,” Poppy announces.

  Holding tight to my hand, she dips her chin to her chest and draws into herself. In spite of her head injuries, I allow her the respite. We both know that she’s not going to sleep. What she’s searching for is the space to digest what she’s just learned about the man she almost married. As much as it pains me, I’m realistic enough to realize that she’s not going to get over his betrayal quickly.

  The wheels of the Bentley eat up the distance between us and New Haven. I drive on autopilot, staring out the windshield with a laser-focused intent that has nothing to do with the traffic on the interstate.

  Seb’s double-cross of the family that took him in only scrapes the bottom of my uncle’s machinations. It’s becoming clear he has a hard-on for the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC and that Poppy is his main target in this plot. Sadly, in the current scheme of things, the death of the young girl Seb used as his reason to initially make contact with the Tennyson’s is the smallest piece of the puzzle I need to solve.

  Poppy and her family have big problems coming home to roost on their doorstep.

  Harrison knows that the MC is chasing him, and he’s kidnapped himself some collateral to deflect their attention while he picks them off, one by one. On my cell, I have a photo of Sabella Archimedes, badly beaten but apparently alive. Although I was already aware of her abduction thanks to today’s meeting with the Coalition, the picture was forwarded to me by my exiled uncle. It was sent along with a selfie of Seb in bed with a sleeping Poppy. He was leering over her as he cupped her breast and offered a thumb’s up to the camera.

  Both photographs were date and time stamped as today.

  The messages are the first contact we’ve had since he was run out of my life when I was eleven.

  Thinking about him, and his evil inclinations, makes me choke with rage.

  Trigger returns for the first time since he took control back at Poppy’s apartment.

  A murderous rage creeps up my spine.

  My uncle needs to die.

  Today.

  My need for vengeance was personal. It still is. Only now, it has a new element.

  Harrison Greaves made a fatal mistake today.

  He came into my world.

  He tried to steal my hope.

  He can’t have her.

  TWENTY

  “Wonder is the beginning of wisdom.” ~Socrates~

  POPPY

  “What the hell?” I exclaim when the Bentley comes to a stop, and I open my eyes. Letting go of Spenser’s hand, I twist in my seat, and demand in a lower voice that doesn’t strain my vocals so much, “Why are we here? How do you know where my family lives?”

  He has the good grace to drop my gaze and shift awkwardly in the driver’s seat. “I know I said I’d answer your questions, but I think it’d be better if I answered them all at once. That way, everyone’s on the same page.”

  “Excuse me?” I don’t recall him promising to answer my questions. He’s been deliberately evasive, and he’s only fooling himself if he thinks I’m going to swallow his half-truths from much longer. “Who died and made you boss? I might believe your crazy explanation about my family being in danger, but I never agreed to bring you... a man who’s already admitted that he was sent to kill us... to our doorstep.”

  Spenser snatches his phone out of the cradle on the dashbo
ard and passes it to me. “Ring your mom and let her know that you need to come in... and that you’re bringing a friend.”

  Ignoring the pain that screams in my shoulder when I cross my arms over my chest, I drop the phone onto his lap and slump back in my seat. “Not a chance. For starters, the presence of my gratitude doesn’t mean that we’re magically back to being friends, and secondly... why would I inflict you on my parents? They’ve been through enough. Don’t you agree, Trigger?”

  He flinches when I address him by his underworld name.

  “Do it.” Spenser’s tone offers no room for argument. “The longer we sit here, the more chance we have of being spotted by the people Seb works with.”

  All rationality flees my mind when he mentions Seb. I hug my arms tighter around my upper body and bite down on my bottom lip to stop the burn in my eyes from becoming too much to handle. The ache in my body is nothing compared to the ache in my chest when I remember the feeling of my ex-fiancé’s hands around my neck. Spenser picks up on the change in my mood and reaches over to stroke my hair. I dodge his hand. It hovers in the space between us for a beat too long until he lowers it back to his lap.

  “My name is Spenser Ing-ram.” His voice cracks over his last name. I dart a glance at him, then recoil from the depth of pain coloring his expression. “I’ve been hunting Harrison Greaves for years. As you know, my job led me to your family which brought me to you. On the same day that I was given the contract to kill you all, I’m pretty certain that Harrison murdered your brother. All I want to do is keep you safe and help your family take out a child molester. Now, will you please phone your parents and get them to open the gates? We’re sitting ducks out here.”

  I search my mind to remember if I’ve ever mentioned Harrison’s name to him. Drunk as I was at the bar the first night we met, I don’t think I would have willingly spoken about the man who abused me. I’m equally certain that I never mentioned Harrison’s purported connection with Ollie’s death. As the truth Spenser has been dancing around hits me with a one-two punch, I blindly flail for the door handle.

  The door pops open and I swing my legs out. Vomit splashes the concrete driveway as my body reacts to the memory of the shame that’s sullied me since I was seven. Retching and gagging, I struggle to breathe. The violent shakes that wrack my body are too strong to control, and the tears that I fought to contain run down my face. With half an ear, I hear the gates to the compound rattle open at the same time that Spenser’s door slams shut.

  “Fuck. It’s Poppy,” Chester shouts. Hearing his worry only makes everything worse in my head. How are they going to cope with Seb’s deception? My brother shouts again, “Mom. Dad. It’s Poppy.”

  Spenser crouches down next to me. He rubs my back as my retches become hiccups. “Shh. I know it’s a lot, but don’t cry. We’re going to get him.”

  “How?” I whisper. The empathy in his emerald gaze spears me. “You know, don’t you?”

  “Know what?” The way his blinking slows tells me everything.

  “Go away,” I command between hiccups. If Spenser knows about Harrison, then he is privy to the details of my past. His explanation for throwing me out this morning finally makes sense. He wasn’t trying to protect me at all. All his comments about being broken were his way of being kind while he pumped me for information about my family. As my crazy rambling on his couch spirals around my head, I sit up straight and shove his chest. “Get the Hell away from me. Leave. Go.”

  Bewilderment flickers across his face, and then he shuts it down when we are surrounded by my family. I’m vaguely aware of Spenser introducing himself to my mom and brother’s while my dad extricates me from the Bentley and carries me inside. Violet is right next to us, holding my hand, and tutting over the state of my face.

  I’m deposited on the long sofa in the main bar. Everyone swarms around me. My brothers’ expressions are filled with thunder. Chester’s eyes are clouded with worry, but it’s Dad who makes me recognize how battered I must be when a solitary tear slips out of one eye and rolls down his weathered cheek unheeded.

  Mom squats in front of me. Smoothing my hair off my forehead, she asks, “What happened? Who did this? We had men on you, how did someone get through them?”

  “It was Seb,” I croak. “And I think he killed Ranger and Slash.”

  The incredulous quiet that fills the bar at my bombshell sits heavier on my shoulders than anything I’ve ever lifted during my sporadic bouts at the gym with Bella. My mom, the woman who rarely cries and runs this MC like a military operation, is devasted. I can see it written all over her blanched face. We’ve lived through some serious shit, but we’ve always had each other to help us through.

  Being deceived by Seb is a blow that hits at the heart of the club.

  He was one of us.

  Interwoven into the fabric of everything the Samaritan’s Soldiers stand for. He’s bled beside the other members and vowed to uphold our values at the expense of his own life. For him to take that oath and use it to hurt me is a betrayal, my mother won’t move past easily.

  “He was planted by Harrison Greaves as a sixteen-year-old.” This is the first time I’ve heard Spenser speak since we entered the main building. I’m a little shocked because I expected him to remain quiet as he learned the lay of the land. I’m equally surprised that he was allowed in without an explanation. My family is normally much more cautious about accepting interlopers. “Before he attacked Poppy, he kidnapped Sabella Archimedes for Harrison.”

  “Do you have proof of this?” My dad’s gruff voice quakes with rage. Turning his back to me, he gets in Spenser’s face. “And, if Bella is missing... explain how you know?”

  Holding his cell in front of the crowd surrounding him, Spenser offers a slightly more detailed clarification of the situation than he gave me. “I’ve wanted to kill Harrison Greaves for a long time. He’s been on and off my radar for the past decade, but I could never get close enough to get him. I’ll be upfront, I am a contract killer, and I was recently given the job of nullifying your club’s effect on Harrison’s sex trafficking routes. This job brought Poppy into my life. When I was alerted to Sebastian Grant’s relationship with the organization Harrison is involved with—”

  “The Coalition,” Mom interjects, narrowing her eyes. Hands on her hips, she advances on Spenser. I stand back and watch as her out-of-character behavior reminds me about mine and Bella’s suspicions that the MC is hiding something from me. “What do you know about them?”

  “Not much.” Every person watching can tell that he’s not providing the full story. “Anyway, I was pulled off the job when Harrison made a counteroffer for the contract on your heads. The minute I knew that Poppy was in danger, I went to her apartment. On the way there, I received this photo from an unknown number. My informant confirmed that it’s from one of Harrison’s current burner phones.”

  My mother snatches the cell phone out of his hand. When Spenser objects and moves to take it back, Chester and my other brother, Levi, grab hold of his arms and pin them to his sides. As they hold him in place, Mom scrolls through the contents on his cell. The further she delves, the darker her usually bright expression becomes until the only thing I can see is murderous intent. Muttering to herself, she stops to read something. The device is then handed to my dad and she seizes hold of Spenser by the front of his shirt. “And, the other picture... when were you going to tell us about that?”

  Spenser doesn’t answer her because he’s too busy fighting my brothers off. His face reddens and his eyebrows pull together tight as he tries to pry my brothers’ fingers off his arms. When his lips start frantically moving, a strange, rhythmic chant fills the room. After a moment, a sad notion consolidates in my head, and I find myself rushing over to Spenser before I’ve consciously decided to help him.

  “Let him go,” I order. Levi backs away with apology on his face. Of course, Chester has to make an issue out of a simple request. He blocks me from moving forward, then Spenser mak
es a heart-wrenching sound when my older brother tightens his grip. Seething, I shove Chester’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

  Scanning my busted face, my brother grimaces when I attempt to mean-mug him with one eye, then steps off with his hands in the air. “Fine. Whatever. Your boyfriend is safe... for now.”

  I wave off the crowd of bikers. Most of them drift away, confusion in their eyes when Spenser starts slapping at his arms and face. Mom, Dad, Chester, and Violet remain clustered around us, but I ignore the questioning stares I can feel on the back of my head. Stooping as low as I can, I croon in the softest voice I can achieve with my busted lip, “It’s okay. They’re gone.”

  Favoring my damaged shoulder, I drop down into a kneeling position next to Spenser. He lurches away from me, horror in his eyes as a red flush rises up his neck. In spite of the frantic rubbing that makes me want to wrap my arms around him, I keep my hands to myself, although I do creep a little closer on my knees. I’m stunned to learn that the words he’s intoning are numbers.

  He counts from one to twelve then starts again. Over and over, Spenser mumbles, never moving past twelve before he recommences chanting from one. It takes a few minutes, but his tactic works. As he regains control of himself, I lean closer.

  “What’s your phobia?” I whisper my question, so we’re the only ones who can hear. Some of his panic fades and he’s able to ball his fingers into fists. “Confinement or men touching you?”

  “Zricha.” The name he called me back at my apartment erupts from his lips like a benediction. When he unfurls his fingers and nudges mine, I accept his hand. His voice sounds like an open wound when he replies, “All touch. Except yours.”

  “Shit.” Marcus from group therapy pops into my head and makes my heart sink to the floor. Exposure therapy hasn’t been a huge success for him and, while he can hug his wife and daughters for limited periods nowadays, he remains unable to touch or be touched by men. “Shit.”

  Leaning lower, Spenser presses his lips against my forehead. “Yeah, shit.”