Daring You

by Ketley Allison

  He exhausts me in all the best ways, and maybe it’s for the better, since we plan to go to my brother’s as soon as we’re dry.

  “Locke’s the first stop,” Ben says when he steps out and hands me a towel. “Maybe Ash or East will be there, too, I dunno.”

  “We’ll tell them, and then I’ll go to Yang, see what I can do to staunch any leaks.”

  “You think he’s said anything to Chavez about me?”

  I’m upside-down, spinning a towel around my wet hair, but I shake my head in the negative. “He just doesn’t seem the type to compromise his career that way. Besides, he got what he wanted—your deposition transcript. He just didn’t get to be the interrogator.”

  “I don’t have a huge handle on your business, but something tells me that’s a huge poker up his ass.”

  “Sure is.” I straighten and wrap another towel around my body. “Which is why I’m going to gauge the temperature.”

  “And possibly be thrown into the fire.”

  “I’m prepared for that.”

  Because I want to—and I get to, any time I want—when I pass Ben, I lay a kiss on his cheek. “You’re worth it.”

  “You say that now,” he says as he follows me out of the bathroom. “But this is a huge hit against your career.”

  “Ben, I love you,” I say sagely. “But I’m not choosing love over my career. This firm isn’t the only one in the city. I have the talent and I have the proof to back it up. You have enough to worry about right now. So, don’t worry about me, okay?”

  Ben offers a smile. “Exactly why I love you, too, baby.”

  I’m about to respond, but my phone rings. I hold the display up to Ben.

  “Oh, boy,” he says, then busies himself finding his pants buried somewhere in our sex-sheets.

  “Astor speaking,” I say when I answer.

  “Office,” Yang barks. “Now.”

  He clicks off before I have a chance to say anything further.

  Ben, dressed in only suit pants and looking for all the world like he wants to be licked, says, “And?”

  “Looks like my first stop is Yang’s office.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  I don’t argue. I don’t want Ben out of my sight any more than he wants me away from him. Physically, we’re having the best time of our lives. But in reality, there’s a very real danger surrounding him. And I don’t, for one second, want to be somewhere else if that danger ever comes into fruition. Beside him is where I’ll be.

  “Let’s go,” I say once I pull on a green, long-sleeved wool dress.

  We find our coats, take the elevator, and burst out into the chill where a car waits for us.

  The drive is silent, mainly because Ben and I are catching our breaths, and both of us are probably going through a variety of scenarios in our heads.

  When we arrive, Ben steps out first and holds the door open for me. He takes my hand as we walk.

  “I’ll be waiting right outside, in the lobby, if you need me.”

  I nod. Nerves wrapped their scaled fingers around my throat during the drive. It’s been easy to dismiss the fear during sex. Not so easy when facing my boss, who knows exactly who Ben is, and who is friends with the man who more than likely ordered a hit on his parents.

  We step into the elevators, and then onto my floor.

  I let go of his hand. “I’ll let you know when I—”

  We both freeze at the same time.

  “Ben,” I whisper harshly.

  Chavez is sitting on one of our plush waiting lounges, casually reading the day’s news on one of our complimentary tablets.

  He hasn’t noticed us. I recover enough to move before he does, pulling at Ben’s arm, but Ben’s a statue. A cold, gray, solid statue of stone as he stares down Enrique Chavez.

  “Ben,” I say through my teeth. “Move. Now.”

  He blinks, breaking out of the bear-trap hold of walking into the arms of a murderer. “I’ll wait right here.”

  “No, you won’t—”

  “No arguments,” he says, his voice so full of grit I barely hear it. “I’m not running away.”

  “I…” Oh, fuck.

  There really isn’t a choice. If he leaves, it’s obvious. If he stays, he could say something to Chavez, two decades worth of anger and resentment coming out within the cream and gold-lined walls of a midtown law firm.

  Did Yang orchestrate this?

  That thought, and only that thought, barrels me forward. “I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

  Before I leave, I squeeze his hand, side-eyeing Chavez, who still hasn’t looked up.

  Ben squeezes back.

  I nod to the receptionist on my way past, my heels a storm of sound against the floor as I find Yang’s office, ignore his paralegal’s cry of, “Miss Hayes, wait, please!” and push open the glass door to his office.

  Yang leans back from his seat behind his desk, steepliing his fingers. He says dryly, “Come on in, Miss Hayes.”

  “Chavez is in the lobby,” I say.

  “Yes, I’m well aware.”

  “What is he doing here?”

  “He’s a client of ours,” Yang replies. “Now sit down.”

  “Ben is there with him,” I seethe out. “He’s sitting there across from—”

  “How is that my fault?” Yang is nonplussed. “I didn’t tell you to bring Mr. Donahue here, did I?”

  “I…” Frustrated, I sit across from his desk. “This is an incredibly dangerous situation.”

  “I’m aware.” Yang picks up his phone’s receiver. “I’ll have Chavez moved to the conference room, in a non-obvious fashion, away from the man who by all accounts, should not be in this fucking office.”

  I remain tight-lipped as Yang instructs his paralegal then sets down the phone. At least Ben has been distanced, but I hate that Yang’s right. Through the blur of rose-colored glasses, it seemed a good idea to keep Ben at my side. Now, it’s more like a time bomb.

  “You wanted to see me?” I say to Yang.

  “Indeed. This morning, I spent most of my time on the phone with the U.S. Marshal’s office getting my ass handed to me.”

  “Oh?”

  “It seems a deposition was done, at the request of the protected witness, where he laid out his recollection of the murder of his parents about twenty years ago.”

  I nod, very aware of the delicacy of my words and when to use them.

  “The transcript will be available by this evening, and, according to the U.S. Marshal, outlines the matter enough that I can decide what to do with our clients.”

  “Okay.” I’m bracing for Yang’s ire, but none comes.

  “I also spoke to ADA Rolfe.” Yang makes a show of opening up a folder laid out on his desk. “He assures me there is ample evidence to convict, the pompous prick.”

  I continue to play dumb. “What kind of evidence?”

  “Enough to identify at least one of the killers. I’ll know more once I read it, but I was under the impression—from you—that the witness didn’t remember anything.”

  I shrug. “Minds change, I guess.”

  Yang’s eyes narrow. “You guess.”

  “Yes.”

  Yang studies me for a while longer. “Either way, if any inkling of the witness’s identity leaks from his office, I’ve been assured there will be consequences. So, you’re here to assure me you will stay closed-mouthed and tight-lipped about this entire matter. Since you know the witness, I can’t give you the tirade I gave Mike and Miss Maddox, but you can pretend that I did. Are you ready?”

  I sit straighter. “I’m sorry?”

  Yang cuts a glance through the glass wall, towards the line of cubicles housing me, Mike and Taryn, among others, and out of fucking nowhere—

  “HOW DARE YOU!”

  My butt literally leaves my chair.

  “You would think, being top of your class, you’d have the wherewithal to triple-check the fucking database a few times to ensure the
accurate tracing of these alleged inheritance funds. You unintelligent but apparently educated twit.”

  My mouth falls open.

  “You got it wrong, Miss Hayes,” he roars. “The trail does not lead to one Benjamin Donahue. The funds were entirely withdrawn five years ago. The source is unknown. At least to us.”

  “Um…”

  “You had me confront a high profile man on something that had nothing to do with him. And could have brutally affected his reputation. Not to mention mine.”

  My mouth works for a moment, about as fast as my brain. “I’m sorry?”

  “I thought you were more thorough than this, Miss Hayes. You’ll be lucky if you ever get near a case of mine again. Now get out.”

  I blurt, before my brain can stop me, “Does this mean—?”

  “Out, Miss Hayes,” Yang says.

  Yang wants nothing further said on the subject, and I’m more than happy to oblige. Rising, I smooth out my dress and turn to the door. When my hand’s on the handle, Yang speaks once more.

  “Delete everything you have on that man,” he says in a lower tone.

  “I already have.”

  Yang’s expression doesn’t waver. “Donahue never confirmed his identity at the gym. You ensured that, and also spoke about a ‘mistake.’ Consider your mistake public at this point.”

  “I understand—”

  “OUT!”

  I pull open the glass door and fly out of there.

  31

  Ben

  He’s smaller than I would’ve figured.

  The man who orchestrated my parents’ deaths sits across a reception lobby from me, and all I can think is how scrawny he is.

  Short. Thin. A weird, handlebar mustache. Bald head. Plain brown suit.

  This is the guy who tortures, kills, ships drugs and people around the world like its his kingdom filled with pawns he moves around at will.

  And it’s only time I’ve ever wanted a gun. So I could pull it out of my coat pocket and shoot him between the eyes.

  I have good aim.

  “Mister Chavez?”

  The mafia boss looks to the perky, red-headed receptionist at his name.

  “We have a conference room available for you where you’ll be more comfortable, with some canapés laid out. If you’d like to come with me?”

  The fuck’s a canapé? I bet Ash would know. It’d be nice to have my guys beside me in this room, flanking my left and right, ready to pummel at my get-go.

  This Chavez stands and smirks at the woman. “Now, that is more in line with how I like to be treated.”

  He turns his back to me at an opportune time. I want to kick him between the shoulder blades. Scream at him while he’s down for taking away the people that were meant to raise me.

  Chavez follows the receptionist out, and my stare doesn’t leave his exposed, gnome-like back.

  What can I kill him for?

  My parents are long dead. Their torture was over decades ago, and they’re hopefully at peace now. I was raised well, on a full belly with a whole heart. My friends are safely ignorant, as are my adoptive parents. I gave testimony, I remembered enough, to help bring justice for Rose and Tim Delaney. I found additional love with Callie and Ronnie Donahue.

  I have a good—no, great—thing going with Astor, and my best friend and her brother will have to come to terms with that.

  I remembered.

  Enough of a killer’s face formed in Ryan’s mind, and he gave that image to me at a time when I needed it most.

  I’m happy.

  That has to be enough.

  Chavez’s back disappears, and he passed me without any once-over, zero fucks given, as he went to go find his canapés.

  Chavez changed my life, but I’m making it better as best I can. I hear Astor’s voice in my head, leveling me out. Outing yourself to a guy like him, with fifty others waiting to take his place, would serve no purpose. Worse, it could get you killed. And I don’t think the Delaneys would ever want that.

  Is it enough? I want to ask her. Will it ever feel like enough, to keep this secret of mine, to remember my parents in silence, to never tell a soul who I am? To let that man walk away from the boy he wants dead?

  Maybe I will ask Astor, because I can. She’s here, she’s mine, and she’s coming down the hallway, whatever meeting she had with Yang at an end.

  That was quick, and can’t be good for us. Frowning, I stand to meet her.

  She comes down the hallway, her features…pissed.

  32

  Astor

  When I leave Yang’s office, I expect to go straight to Ben, blubber the great news, go have fantastic sex somewhere semi-public—since we seem to like doing that—and then go break the news to our friends that we’re an item.

  A busy day, but nothing we can’t handle. At least for now, the danger meter pointing toward Ben is at an orange. Which, he’s the first to admit, has been his constant state of alert since his Ryan counterpart was given a voice.

  As such, great news should be celebrated with great sex.

  We’re okay, Ben. Holy shit, we’re okay.

  Too bad for me, I forgot in order to get to Ben, I’d have to pass Mike.

  He shoots up from his cubicle like a tailored weed, and it’s all I can do to keep my heart from ramming against my ribcage a second time.

  “Jesus, Mike.”

  “Enjoyed that, did you?” he says. Despite the chest-high fabric wall of the cubicle between us, he leans in close.

  I sigh. “Enjoy what, Mike? Didn’t you hear the reaming out I got from Yang?”

  “You set me up,” he spits. So violently, I take a step back.

  “I didn’t do any such thing.”

  “Leaving that kind of paper trail on your computer, pointing it straight at your fuckboy. That was your last ditch effort at humiliating me, huh? So I’d bring it to Yang and what? Look like a retard? You fucking bitch.”

  Next door, Taryn turns, but I hold a hand up. I got this.

  “Listen, you dickless prick. I’ve been done with you the minute I kicked you out of our apartment. The last thing I’d do is expend any effort on making you look bad.” I pause to look him up and down. “I worked hard for that information, which was farther than you ever got. And yeah, I was wrong. And rather than make it out as a set-up, how about you just admit the fact that even while making mistakes, I’m still smarter than you.”

  The sound of Taryn’s claps make Mike go red in the face. “I am so glad I—”

  “Oh, I know, Mike. You’re so glad you realized your ways and didn’t marry a dried-up hag of a woman who, even with a cold vagina, could still make you come hard. And fast.”

  He peels back his lips.

  “Looks like we both come out winners,” I say. “Goodbye, Mike.”

  It’s hard to believe I settled for him, believing I couldn’t do better. That he’s what I deserved. It feels good to face him down one final time.

  Taryn lets out a little whoop! But I’m already striding away, so she can’t see my smile.

  “At least I don’t run back to a dude who could only fuck me on a dare!” Mike shouts.

  I hitch my stride. Don’t turn around. Don’t give him the pleasure—

  “What do you think he’s getting out of it now, huh? Gotta be something, to have a stiff like you wrapped around his finger. If it’s not to protect his identity, then what?”

  The prickle of anger spreads at the corner of my eyes. Don’t turn around.

  “Have a nice, empty life, Astor.”

  His voice fades, but not his words. They sink into my conscious as a stark reminder that yes, Ben could be using me to keep himself safe.

  Could I blame him? It’s his life, after all. His family.

  I scrunch my eyes shut and breathe out before I hit the lobby. Despite the painful, possible truth, I won’t give Mike any clue of just how close he’s coming to a spiteful reveal of Ben’s secret past, even now.

  I have Yang to tha
nk for that. Never thought he would be my savior of the day.

  Ben’s form comes into view as I round the last corner, and as he stands, it’s obvious I’m not doing enough to disguise my emotions. Damn it, he’s already cracking through my exterior.

  “What’s up?” he says as I step up to him. “You don’t look—”

  “Come with me.”

  I grab his arm and take him to a second, private conference room just off the lobby, the one room not in line with this firm’s penchant for a fish bowl. It’s for VIPs, confidential clients, and confronting Ben.

  “The dare,” I say when I shut the solid, wooden door and spin to face him. “It’s time to tell me the truth.”

  “Astor, we’ve been through this.”

  “No. Not really. Not since I’ve known who you really are.”

  Ben rubs his index finger and thumb against his eyes. “You need to tell me where this is coming from.”

  “I went into this office today willing to do anything in my power to keep you safe,” I say. “I would lie, cheat, and steal to keep your secret under wraps. I was willing to tell Yang I got the wrong Ben Donahue, to forge documents pointing to the death of another Ben Donahue—the real Ryan Delaney. I’d already had a person lined up who could give me those documents, so desperate was I to get you out of this terrifying spotlight.”

  Ben’s hand drops from his face. “Holy shit. Seriously?”

  “Yes, Ben.” God, I want to scream. Punch the clarity into him. “Everything in my power was yours. I am yours.”

  “Honey, I know.” He takes a step forward.

  “Don’t.”

  “Astor, I—”

  “I had to get a handle on my boss, on Taryn, on Mike, who God knows what he’d do with this information. I was scared out of my wits and didn’t care what would happen to me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  “Because I didn’t want to scare you, too,” I admit with a shaking voice. “More than you already were. I wanted to fix this pandora’s box I opened.”

  “How many times to I have to tell you this isn’t your fault?”