The Dangerous Son (Coalition Collection Book 1)

by Zoe Hill

  “You know my parents?”

  Poppy’s father laughs. “Of course. The settlement we made with Harrison was sufficient to start a new life in New Haven, but it wouldn’t finance a set up like this. Your parents have been funding this club since day one. Zoran keeps us informed about shipments so we can intercept them. He also keeps the Coalition off our back. Now, Sophia, wow, that woman is a powerhouse. She singlehandedly built this control room and staffed it. Her knowledge of the dark web and her underworld contacts have proven indispensable. My family and our members might be in charge of the day to day operations, and we take the physical risks, but your parents are considered honorary members. They share our mission goal to take down the Coalition and every organization like them.”

  The pain pulses over my left eye as I attempt to absorb all of the information Bennett has disclosed. No matter how hard I try, I cannot reconcile the distant mother and judgmental father I endured during my formative years with the benevolent fairy Godmother personas he’s describing.

  I can’t forget about the angry father who calls me a fucking embarrassment to his name.

  The man who cut off my finger to keep me in line.

  The monster who tortured my twin because I refused to follow orders.

  How can that mad man be the same person that Bennett Tennyson respects?

  “How? Why?” The discomfort above my eye becomes unbearable. I press my hand over the left side of my face to block out all light. “My dad hates me. Mom can’t stand to be in the same room as me because I’m broken. The only person who ever cared about me until Poppy is my twin.”

  Lifting my head, I bellow at the ceiling. “None of this makes sense. You’re feeding me a truckload of bullshit.”

  When I stand and kick the chair out of my way, Poppy’s father attempts to stop me from leaving the control room. I snatch my arm out of his grasp, then elbow him in the stomach when he grabs me again. My hands are sweaty as I twist the doorknob, eventually, I manage to open it, only to slam it shut again when I find my dad waiting out in the corridor. Dressed in black clothing instead of his usual suit, he leans back against the wall, one foot kicked over the other, arms across his chest, looking like his partner in crime didn’t just rip my entire life out from under my feet. Banging my forehead against the door, I blink back the rage that wants to spill out of my eyes as the top of my head throbs with enough pain to make me wish it would explode.

  Brains and bad memories would decorate every inch of this room and I’d finally be free.

  “Fuck this,” I curse.

  Ripping the door open again, I shove past my treacherous father and stomp out into the main area. I hear Bennett yelling for my dad to follow me. In the large bar that previously had tables and a dance floor set up, everything has been stacked against one wall. After skirting the edges of the crowd, I find Poppy helping her sister organize a stack of bulletproof vests by size over in one of the corners. Looking at her makes the headache I’m battling reduce from an agonizing throb to a manageable ache.

  “Spenser, please,” my dad calls out. “We need to talk.”

  I grab the side of my head when the pain becomes explosive again and charge for the exit.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Chester quips, blocking the way. Automatic weapon strapped across his chest and black paint smudged across his face, he’s dressed like a bad imitation of a ninja. As I get closer, he holds up a hand and commands in a drill sergeant’s voice, “Step back or I’ll shoot you.”

  “Do it.” I hold my arms out at my sides and puff up my chest. “Fucking do it.”

  Three more Tennyson boys join Chester. Big and brawny, and sporting varying degrees of red hair, they are all clearly ready to shoot me if I continue my bullshit. When I stand silently in front of them, they regard me with a strange mix of understanding and hatred. It’s their sympathy that makes me growl at them. Spurred on by my dented pride, I push forward, arms out, wordlessly daring them to stop me. They shake their heads, moving to cover the door, before focusing on something over my shoulder.

  Fully expecting my dad to mow me down from behind, I brace for a tackle that never comes. Rather than my solid father bearing down on me, slim arms slide around my waist, and Poppy’s subtle scent penetrates my senses. She rests her forehead just below my shoulder blades and my angst subsides. “It’s all right, Spenser. I want to punch them too, but I think they kept everything from us to protect us.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  Her body shakes when she laughs. “Because that’s what my mom told me before she threatened to tan my ass like a two-year-old for sassing her.”

  A light chuckle escapes my lips as I turn around and pull her into a tighter embrace. Resting my chin on the top of her head, I sigh, “I’m sick of lies and secrets. Wanna run away with me to a deserted island? I’m pretty sure my family can afford to buy us one.”

  “Sure,” Poppy quips. “As long as it’s warm, I hate the cold.”

  Over the top of Poppy’s head, I spot my father. He’s staring at my hands resting on Poppy’s back with undisguised longing on his face. I meet his eyes for a nanosecond, then movement to his right captures my attention. I discover that Mom is here too. She’s holding Lilith and looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Bennett’s half-assed explanation in the control room bashes around in my skull, aggravating the pain in my head. I shake it off and stare down my mother until her step falters and she ceases walking over to me.

  “Do you have a room?” I whisper to Poppy.

  “I do.” Grabbing my hand, she leads me through the crowd of bikers. We pass my mother as we go, and Poppy stops long enough to say, “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Ingram.”

  The look in Mom’s eyes tells me not to correct Poppy’s use of her maiden name. Guilt charges through me, holding me hostage with their dishonesty. I might be sick of lies and secrets, but I’m also complicit. Selfishly, I bite my tongue and concentrate on greeting my cat. Touching her fur, feeling the purr that rumbles through her under my palm provides enough of a distraction that I’m able to keep up the façade I need to stop Poppy from discovering the full truth her dad has demanded I give her myself.

  I vow that I’ll tell her everything once we have Bella back.

  The promise soothes some of my guilt, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying that total honesty is going blow up in my face.

  What if she blames me for what Harrison did to her?

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Mine. The language of love is like that, possessive. That should be the first warning that it's not going to encourage anyone's betterment.” ~Holly Black~

  POPPY

  Holding Spenser’s hand, I bypass the smaller living room and the smaller dining area. I hesitate at my bedroom door before I decide to lead Spenser to Ollie’s old room instead. It feels right since his absence is what brought us together. The door is locked, but it’s a badly kept family secret that he hides a spare key under the loose piece of carpet in the corner. After retrieving the key, I unlock the door and step into my big brother’s domain.

  Inside, I’m immediately taken back to the past. It doesn’t look like anything’s changed in here since the last time I entered. Family photos dot the various flat surfaces. Ollie’s collection of Harley parts and random memorabilia from his biker runs remain scattered over the floor. He has a pile of dirty clothes in his hamper. The bed is unmade.

  Before I can regret my choice, I flick on a bedside lamp and pull Spenser down onto the sheet with me. In the bedding, I can still smell my eldest brother’s distinctive scent—Ralph Lauren cologne, oil, and freedom. Tears well as I think about the gaping hole his loss has left in my family.

  “I miss him so much,” I murmur. Pressing a pillow over my face, I inhale deeply. Once I’ve had my fill, I stuff it under my head and roll onto my side to face the man who’s quickly worked his way under my skin and is bearing down fast on my heart.

  Spenser rests his head in his hand, propping his elbow o
n the bed. “Your brother?”

  “Yeah. This is his room.” Looking around at the familiar decorations, I climb off the bed when I spot something new on his top shelf. I have to stretch to reach the small, silver frame, but I manage to knock it over the edge and catch it before it hits me in the face. “Wow, she’s pretty.”

  Sitting on the edge of the mattress, I smile when Spenser shuffles over to me on his side and wraps an arm around my waist. He peers at the picture of Ollie and the beautiful woman for a second, then he rushes back into a sitting position. Leaning over, he flicks on the second lamp and examines the photograph closer.

  “I swear that’s my Aunt Rosalie.”

  “That’s weird. How would they know each other?” I venture in a tight voice. Spenser’s exact connection to the MC is a bit of a mystery to me. Mom’s explanation left a lot to be desired, and apart from admitting that Harrison Greaves is part of a wider network of criminals, politicians, and even a member of royalty or two known as the Coalition, most of my questions went unanswered. While my parents have never been completely forthcoming about Samaritan’s Soldiers business with me because I declined to patch into the club, the longer I spend here, the heavier my suspicions become that this mess with Harrison is deeper than they’re letting on. Worry picks at the edges of my consciousness. “Have you spoken to her lately? What if she’s at risk from the Coalition after what they did to my brother?”

  “My aunt is... out of the country. Plus, I doubt they’d come after a woman,” Spenser replies. His tone is choked. Peeking at the picture frame again, his eyebrows knit together. Because I can already feel his concern, I refrain from reminding him that the Coalition doesn’t discriminate between the sexes. They traffic women and kids, and one of their members tried to have me killed and is currently holding my best friend captive. “I’m sure she’s fine. Rosalie is above all this.”

  “How much does she look like your aunt?”

  “A lot.”

  I ask my next question in what my family calls my “detective voice” because the photo has sparked a memory of something Ollie said the last time we spoke. “Does she have a child? A son in his late thirties?”

  “Yes, my cousin Andreas is almost five years older than me,” Spenser replies with a frown. He picks at the edge of the shiny frame. “It’s her. It has to be unless she has a doppelgänger living in New Haven, who likes to kiss your dead brother.”

  The dinging of alarm bells in my head is making me nauseous. Spenser’s family are obviously close to mine, although my parents have never mentioned them to me before. The armed men they brought with them to the compound outnumbers the Samaritan’s Soldiers by two to one, and their weapons are military grade. Their presence, coupled with Ollie’s odd question about my thoughts on him dating a woman with a son the same age as him, is doing more than arousing doubts in my mind.

  As Bella would say, my spidey-senses are tingling.

  Blinking back the need to cry over my best friend, I murmur a prayer that my mom’s plan to get her back is successful. I need my best friend. First, to apologize for accepting that stupid letter Seb passed off as hers, then to pick her big, beautiful brain for answers to everything plaguing my life.

  “I need to touch you,” Spenser declares. After placing the small frame on the bedside table, Spenser rolls onto his back. Grimacing, he presses his fingers against his left eye for a second, but before I can ask what’s wrong, he grabs my waist and drags me over his body. With my knees on either side of his hips and my weight resting on his groin, I shake my shoulders to free myself from the niggling anxiety that’s stalking me.

  Whatever our families are up to has nothing to do with me and Spenser.

  He’s a survivor like me. If I refuse to accept judgment for the actions my family makes to assuage their guilt over my abuse, then I can’t hold the man beneath me to account for his own family’s failings.

  Cocking my head to the side, I look his handsome face over.

  On their own, his features aren’t classically attractive. His green eyes are a smidgen too far apart. The bump in his nose tells me it’s been broken more than once. His generous lips and too wide mouth would be at the top of Kylie Jenner’s shopping list. The week’s growth he wears on his chin is just long enough to scratch my skin when we kiss. Yet, color me stupid and call me smitten, I think his face is the best thing my eyes have ever seen.

  “You’re staring.”

  “I’m cataloging all your flaws,” I retort.

  Laughing, Spenser tosses me onto my back then cages me in with his body. “I thought we agreed that I was the biggest catch in the city. Catches don’t have flaws... so you can’t go changing the rules now, Zricha.”

  When he pushes his hips between my thighs and presses himself against my heat, I suck my lips over my teeth to stop myself from nipping at his chin. Spenser Ingram evokes feelings in me that aren’t sane. He turns my emotions into a puddle of mania and my body into a pleasure bomb in need of detonation.

  I want to worship at his feet. I want to cut him open and inspect every tiny bit of him to see what makes him tick. I want to taste his blood.

  He’s infected me with feelings that I can’t name.

  He’s proven within less than a day that we’re kindred spirits who are cracked in the same way. It pains me to know that he’s been hurt before. After Mom explained that Spenser was a victim of Harrison as well, all I could do to assuage my ache for all the heartache this beautiful man has been through, was to vow that I would kill anyone who ever tried to hurt him again.

  For the first time in my life, my oath to serve and protect has been superseded by a burning desire to protect him.

  The need to confess how I feel singes the end of my tongue, but I’m aware that it’s too soon. My sexual proclivities and his innocence are close to rendering us incompatible, despite our instantaneous connection with each other. The specter of Harrison Greaves hangs over us in a ghoulish reminder of our past pain. There’s an ocean of problems between us, and I consider the fact that I haven’t turned mute on him and run away already to be a big step forward for me.

  Everything else—problem, solution, or agreement—can wait until I have Bella back, and Harrison is dead.

  Turning my attention to a safer topic than the ones currently running through my head, I inquire, “Why do you call me Zricha?”

  “It means sunrise in Hebrew.” Dipping low, Spenser captures my chin with his teeth before he nibbles his way down to the notch between my collarbones. After planting a kiss on the base of my throat, he explains, “My life has been dark for a long time. I thought it would never get better, then a stunning redhead danced her way over to me in a dingy bar and touched my chest and I saw the sun for the first time in a long time.”

  When he stops talking, I fill the silence. “I like it... it means I’m special to you.”

  “More than that,” Spenser argues in a tone I’ve never heard before. The possession in his voice sends a bolt of lust shooting through me at the same time as it wraps me in a warm cocoon of safety. “It means that I’m keeping you. For-fucking-ever. Being able to touch you, having you touch me without my skin burning, it’s a miracle. You give me hope, Poppy Tennyson, and in my world, that’s the most dangerous thing to have. It’s also the only thing giving me the will to continue living. You’re a catch-22, Zricha.”

  Hearing that I’m not alone in my immediate connection to him opens the levee that was holding my own feelings at bay. Words tripping over each, I splutter, “It’s happened so quickly. Too quickly. I feel like you’re going to disappear if I look away for too long.”

  Spenser takes hold of my hands with one of his and places them against his heart. Looming over me, he moves between my legs. A bolt of pleasure flashes through me when he presses his hardness against my throbbing clit, and I arch my back as a shudder engulfs my body. “Too fast or too slow... I don’t give a shit. You can’t keep me from you any more than you can stop a thirsty man from water. Now t
hat I’m aware you exist... I’m not going anywhere.”

  Spenser has a way with words that I don’t possess. His confession leaves me speechless. Rather than stumble my way through something that doesn’t do justice to my burgeoning feelings, I silently vow to help my family do all they can, illegal or not, to end the threat Harrison poses once we’ve conned him into turning Bella back over, then snatch the compensation he’s bartered from out under his nose.

  Pressing my face into Spenser’s chest, I’m forced to bite back a grin when the strategy my mom and Spenser’s have plotted to defeat Harrison pops back into my head. Their demand that I allow his father to tell him about the plan to lure Harrison out into the open by offering the pair of us in exchange for Bella chaffs at my excitement to take part in vanquishing the monster who ruined my childhood, once and for all. While I understand that it’s up to his parents to ensure his cooperation with their proposed bait and switch, I would’ve enjoyed talking it over with him.

  I sure there will be time to discuss logistics before we leave for my dad’s old church to feign the exchange later this evening.

  As I battle with my impatience, someone pounds on the door.

  “Time to get a move on, lovebirds. Tuck your icky bits back into your own pants,” Chester shouts, laughing like a hyena at his crude joke. “We leave in fifteen and not a second later. I’d prefer to get Bella and her fine ass back in one piece sooner rather than later.”

  Without waiting for a response, he opens the door wide enough to toss a pile of clothing onto the floor. With a muttered curse word, Spenser climbs off the bed. On shaky legs, I follow him, and while he quietly sorts through the black clothing we’ve been provided, I look around Ollie’s room for a clock.

  Finding a small, radio clock hidden under a pile of paperwork on the desk, I’m taken aback to discover that it’s barely five in the afternoon. Turning to Spenser, I open my mouth to ask him why we’re leaving so soon when I’m sure Mom said we had a couple more hours to wait, but I close it when I see how tense he is.