The Dangerous Son (Coalition Collection Book 1)

by Zoe Hill

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.” ~Rabindranath Tagore~

  POPPY

  I once asked my mom why she named me Poppy. After all, the flower doesn’t exactly invoke optimism, considering it’s most closely linked with death. I thought it might’ve been my hair color, but that didn’t make sense. My brothers might’ve been redheads of varying shades, but there wasn’t any guarantee that I was going to be born with red hair since both my parents have brown hair.

  As is her way, Mom’s answer was straight to the point and told me everything I needed to know about my mother’s love for me.

  “The poppy also symbolizes peace,” Mom replied in her no-nonsense tone. “God knew after dealing with your brothers that I desperately needed some. That’s why he blessed me with you. My little Poppy, kind, gentle, and best of all, peaceful. You brought calm to my heart when everything else was devolving into chaos from the minute you were born.”

  Sitting here, watching my family and Spenser’s celebrating the successful mission to dispense of Harrison Greaves, I’m reminded of her words. My brothers are loud, always demanding the center of attention and willing to fight for it if they aren’t voluntarily given it. My little sister, Violet, has her own way of drawing a crowd. She stands up for what she believes in and does her best to speak up for those without a voice.

  Then there’s me.

  I’d like to say that I’ve remained kind and gentle throughout all the drama that’s plagued my life, but I can’t say that I’ve been peaceful for a long time. I’m tense around my family. I constantly question every decision I make. Late at night, when I’m struggling to sleep, my mind goes to war with itself. All the things I should’ve said throughout the day play over and over in my head. I promise myself that I’ll do better in the morning, but the moment I reopen my eyes to face a new day, my anxiety returns. I become mute. I lose the ability to speak up for myself. Worst of all, I find myself examining everyone and everything I encounter for ill-will and ulterior motives.

  The trauma I experienced at Harrison’s hands has shaped every thought I’ve had since I was seven.

  The last time I remember feeling peaceful was when I jumped off a cliff at Elmer’s Point after a beautiful boy told me that the way out of my horror was to tell my parents. Somehow my soul recognized that we shared the same pain, even when I didn’t understand what was wrong with me.

  Spenser’s advice saved me that day.

  All it cost me was my peace.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Spenser pulls a barstool next to me and sits down.

  I haven’t seen him since we returned to the compound. His parents whisked him off and my dad told me to leave them alone when I realized that his parents were using one of the spare rooms in the main building to host their long overdue mea culpa.

  Every moment that he was gone, I felt like my right arm was missing.

  Now that he’s close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body, I’m unsure where we stand. In the Escalade, I felt like our connection had grown stronger. Remembering him as Sabra, the boy who saved me, seemed to break through the final vestiges of my doubt about our instant bond.

  Now, I’m not so sure.

  Is it ever possible to move past the kind of harm that was done to us?

  Spenser sighs. “You look pensive.”

  “I am.” Biting my bottom lip, I struggle to put my thoughts into words. The shyness in his actions when he takes my hand in his tells me that he’s feeling the change between us too. Suddenly determined to avoid the mistakes I make with everyone else, I link our fingers, and give voice to my discontent. “Everyone else is happy. They think killing him solves everything. But it doesn’t, at least not for me.”

  “I don’t agree,” he scoffs. As my defenses slam back into place, I let go of his hand and slide off my bar stool. When Spenser stops me, I glare up at him. My expression softens when he turns me to face the crowd and pulls me between his legs. With one arm around my middle, he points at my parents and then my siblings. “Look at them properly. Every person in this room is going to remember that bastard until the day they die. They’re not happy, they’re relieved.”

  Taking his advice, I watch our families mingling. It takes a few minutes, but their pain eventually reveals itself. My mom holds court in the middle of a crowd of bikers. She regales the onlookers with the details of how she concocted the plan to bait Harrison with her daughter, then use his gloating to catch him. Smiling as she talks, she seems peaceful on the surface, yet the feral worry in her eyes proves that she’s still wound up.

  Chester laughs at the appropriate points in the tale, however, he constantly glances at the big clock on the wall and then at his motorcycle jacket that hangs on hooks near the door. He needs to ride to clear his head after the secret our mother dropped on our heads when she gathered our family together before the rest of the club arrived back at the compound. My other brothers crowd around him, their expressions betraying their disbelief that not only is Ollie still alive, but he willingly chose to go back into the depths of the Coalition to rescue the woman he’s fallen in love with while pretending to be a killer for hire.

  In each of my brothers, I see my own hurt at being cut out of the plan and my fear that we’re going to lose Ollie for real if he doesn’t come home soon.

  Over in the far corner, Violet talks on the phone. Her hand gestures are animated, and she’s giggling at something, nevertheless, on closer inspection, I spy the redness around her eyes. While this war rages, she’s lost the life she worked so hard to build in California.

  It’s too dangerous for her to leave until Zoran tells us if the Coalition is going to continue to come after us.

  One by one, from my dad who can’t stay still for more than half a minute, to Spenser’s parents and their repeated glances at their son, I realize that every person here is struggling as much as I am. They’re just better at pretending than I am.

  “You’re right.” I nudge against Spenser’s stomach. “It’s just as well one of us has a clue what’s going on.”

  He lifts my hand to his mouth and bites my knuckles. “It takes an expert bullshitter to spot another one.”

  “About that,” I reply. My knee begins to bounce up and down. I look everywhere but at Spenser. “I want to explain that what happened in the alleyway was a first for me. I have issues,” I make air quotes with my fingers when I say that dreaded word, “but I’m not exactly an exhibitionist.”

  “I couldn’t care less what you are, as long as it makes you happy.”

  Turning within his embrace, I search his face for a clue to his mood. “What’s wrong?”

  Spenser runs his tongue along his bottom lip, then he rolls his eyes. I’m starting to identify that as his tell. Whenever he’s uncomfortable or getting ready to tell a lie, he makes those same movements.

  “Tell me the truth, please.”

  His wide shoulders slump. A defeated look, worse than the one that flitted across his face when he woke up in the Escalade and recognized Harrison, clouds his expression. After a moment that feels like an eternity, he draws in a ragged breath. “What if... our—”

  “What’s cookin’ good looking?” Bella’s chirpy voices interrupts his confession. I spin around and wrap my best friend in a bear hug. She allows me to squeeze her for a second, and then she gently extricates herself. “Oi, chipmunk. Watch the arm.”

  “Oh, my God,” I exclaim. Stepping back, I look her over. She’s a mess. Bruised face, arm in a plaster cast, and there’s a darkness in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. Appreciating Spenser’s insight, even more, I look over my shoulder to mouth “thank you” again, but he’s gone. “I guess he’s not interested anymore.”

  “Seriously, Poppy?” Bella scolds. “Unbelievable. I’m already yesterday’s news. I was kidnapped and beaten. For. This. Club. I think that means I’m owed a free drink, at least. Maybe even another kiss. I mean, I kno
w that there’s a whole death threat still hanging over my head since my dopey sister managed to get herself knocked up by one of the Averell brothers, but seriously... a little appreciation goes a long way.”

  Blinking fast, my mouth drops as her rambling complaint sinks into my head, and I end up feeling about two inches tall. This is the first time she’s even mentioned it since it happened. I didn’t think she remembered the kiss we shared last year when we were drunk. “I’m sorry. That was selfish of me.”

  My best friend drops her gaze to mine. Her eyebrows pull together and she tilts her head to one side. “What are you talking about?”

  “Me... being selfish. Spenser. Oh, you know,” I splutter, waving my hand around to gesture at everything. “I’m a terrible friend.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Bella bursts into laughter. Stopping abruptly, she hisses and touches the butterfly stitch on her top lip. Glaring over my head, she snarls, “I wasn’t ranting about you. I was ranting to you. You’re a great friend. A little neurotic and you think everything is about you. But... I was complaining about him.”

  Turning me in a circle with her good arm, she points at Chester. My idiotic brother is dancing with one of the girl’s that hang around the club. He’s acting like a dick, slapping her ass while she backs up on him, and high fiving with whichever brother is closest like he’s some kind of legendary fuckboy.

  He isn’t.

  I’ve seen him turn down absolute stunners because he “didn’t trust their motives.”

  My brother is a prime example of a man who refuses to settle yet can see that the woman who ticks off every item on his list is standing right in front of him. Or next to me, in this case.

  Hands on my hips, I scowl. “Want me to knock some sense into him? I’ll need a stepladder. But you know I’ll do it for you.”

  “No,” Bella replies. She juts her chin toward the doors that lead out to the bedrooms. “I’ll deal with my clueless idiot. You’ve got your own to worry about.”

  I spot Spenser’s dark head moving through the crowd. He’s heading for the sleeping quarters. I see the loneliness in his eyes as he looks back my way before ducking to walk through the archway. My heart flip flops in my chest, and a fluttery feeling breaks out in my stomach.

  “I really like him,” I declare at a level only the two of us can hear.

  Bella shrugs then pats the top of my head. “That’s always a good place to start.”

  Scowling at her, I admit, “I don’t know what to do. We’re too much alike... I think it’s going to stop us from moving past everything. I’m so confused. Help me, Bella.”

  Running out of words, I look up at my best friend. Since I ran into Spenser outside the precinct—something that I now know wasn’t a coincidence—I’ve been desperate for her advice. No matter how close I am with my little sister, Bella is my other half.

  We’re soul sisters.

  I can’t chase after him if Bella thinks it’s a dumb idea.

  Cocking her head to the side, my best friend looks down her nose at me. In a lilting voice that fills my chest with warmth and calms to whirlwind in my head, she announces to everyone in our vicinity. “I, Sabella Archimedes, ordained by the Gods of romance books the world over, diagnose you, Poppy Eloise Montgomery Tennyson, with a bad case of insta-love and a rash that looks suspiciously like insta-lust.”

  Mom’s laughter is the loudest. After shaking my head at my best friend’s theatrics, I hit my mom with a pleading look. Closing the distance between us with her long legs, she puts an arm around me and drags me in for a cuddle.

  “Go get him, bubba.”

  “Really?”

  Dad comes up behind her and wraps his arms around us both. He nods in agreement, then kisses the top of my head as Mom says. “Ready or not, I think he’s the one that’s going to bring you the peace you so sorely need.”

  Extricating myself from my parents’ embrace, I hold my fingers up like Spiderman in front of Bella. “Are your Spidey-senses tingling?”

  “So much.’ Giggling, she matches my hand gesture then tips her head toward the door. “Are you gonna go after him, or do we need to wrestle about it? We both know that, even with one arm, I’ll still beat you.”

  The smile that curves my lips makes my cheeks hurt. “I’m going.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Life isn’t always black and white. You’re not always sure you’re right. At least I’m not.” ~Brad Paisley~

  SPENSER

  Disappearing from the celebrations feels a little juvenile, despite the key that Bennett pressed into my hand as he urged me to take a few minutes for himself. I can’t handle the noise. I can’t handle the way everyone makes sure they keep a wide birth when they pass me. I can’t handle the disappointment in Poppy’s eyes.

  She’s not happy.

  I think that might be my fault.

  With the key, I let myself into the fourth room on the right, just like Poppy’s father told me. It’s a girl’s room, filled with black leather and white lace. Inhaling, I work out that it’s Poppy’s bedroom when her vanilla perfume enters my nose. I feel like I’m intruding, but that doesn’t stop me from checking her shelves and pulling open some of the drawers.

  Not one shelf holds anything personal.

  None of the drawers contain an item that isn’t essential.

  It’s similar to the basement apartment I call home at Stirling’s house and reminds me of Poppy’s room at the apartment she shares with Bella. Devoid of personality, untouched by time, and bereft of emotional attachment. Both of our personal spaces have the same sterility as a hotel room and speak to our stunted growth as adults.

  I guess it’s hard to build an authentic life when the base you’re supposed to use to support your growth as a human is busted into pieces before you’ve even started.

  Unsure what Bennett is trying to say by sending me in here, I sit on the edge of her bed and drop my head into my hands. Killing Harrison should’ve freed me. It hasn’t. In his wake, he’s left poisoned memories and broken trust. The toxicity that he helped Roman create between me and my parents isn’t going to be solved overnight. That weighs on me because I feel like their explanations and apologies should be enough.

  Their motives were pure.

  They’re trying to atone for their mistakes.

  They thought they were protecting me with their lies.

  Rage burns through as I repeat their wafer-thin excuses in my head. Standing, I lunge for the closest wall and punch a hole in the wall. My fist gets caught. Growling, I tug my hand free and hit the same spot again.

  Dust and plaster drop onto the floor, and I crush the biggest piece into smithereens beneath my boot.

  I jam my hands in my hair and pull until my scalp screams with pain. Spinning in a circle, I struggle to find an answer to my discontent. Why am I like this? I should be celebrating. Harrison is dead. I made progress with my dad. My mom isn’t trying to touch me. Stirling is as happy as he can be. My family is another step closer to taking out the Coalition with the help of Poppy’s family and the motorcycle club.

  I should be happy.

  Like Poppy, I’m not.

  “Hey,” a voice that I’ll recognize when I’m old and gray softly greets me. “I thought you might want some company.” Poppy steps into her bedroom and closes the door behind her. Leaning her back against the wood, she takes in the carnage I’ve caused in her personal space. A light laugh erupts from her plump lips, and she says, “Never liked that wall much.”

  A scorn-filled chuckle is my only response. Wiping my hands on my thighs, I plonk back down on Poppy’s bed. We’re silent, apart from the sound of our breathing and the jagged way Poppy taps on the door behind her. Time drags. I look everywhere but at her.

  Longing snakes through me. My hands burn with the need to touch her skin. My breathing becomes panting, but I do my best to disguise it. She can’t be mine. I’m not enough. If I was a real man, a strong man, I’d let her go. Fisting my hands, I force my fi
ngers to open then jam them under my legs, so I don’t reach for her. As desire pools in my groin and her presence wraps around me like a blanket, I chance a glance at her and find that she’s staring at me with the same emotions that are rippling through me displayed in her expression.

  “Zricha,” escapes my mouth at the same time Poppy says, “Sabra.”

  I hold my arms out and she runs over to me. Catching her before she knocks me over, I steady Poppy on her feet. She stands between my legs. Her hands cradle my face while mine cup her backside. In her eyes, I see everything I’m feeling and more. Her gaze shines wetly with emotion, and as I search her face for the reason behind her sadness, the tears spill free. Whiles she silently cries, clutching me to her, I wipe under her eyes with my thumbs.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Poppy’s bottom lip trembles when she tells me, “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Shit.” Hands on her waist, I lift her up as I stand. When I lower her onto my hips, she wraps her legs around my waist. With my hands under her armpits, I swing her around. Bewilderment flickers across her beautiful face when I laugh. “I thought you’d be done with me, now you know the whole truth about me. Trigger. My uncle. The Coalition.”

  “Never,” Poppy vows. After pressing her lips against mine, timidly, tentatively, she pulls away to speak, “I’m not pure like you. I’ve done things to make me feel normal that keep me up at night. Does that make you think less of me?”

  I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t stop myself. When her face pinches with displeasure, and she slaps at my shoulders to get down, I hurry to explain my reaction. “I’m so far from pure, that it’s not funny... my invitation to the pearly gates was revoked years ago. I know my mom explained to you what my role with the Coalition is... was. Fuck, I have a whole other personality to put up with too. You should be asking yourself if I’m good enough for you rather than blaming yourself for doing the best you could to survive.”