Reveal

by Bromberg, K.

  Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and see the concerned look in Ryker’s eyes before he left, and deep down, I know the truth. Ryker might be a bastard in court, he might be a hard-ass who demands without reason, but at his core, he’s a man who lives his life by the law. He doesn’t need money. He doesn’t need the thrill of defying the rules.

  He had nothing to do with this.

  The question is, Was it just Carter, or is his wife in on it too? Did she hire Ryker as a front, a place to hide the money? And if so, how would she ever expect to get it back?

  I give a deep sigh and settle back into the silence of my house, which is full of unanswered questions these days.

  With another good cry under my belt, I know exactly what I need to do.

  The lie I told the agents—that my second piece of blackmail was simply a bluff—just might be my bargaining chip.

  It might be the only thing I have going for me. It’s one way I’m choosing to fight.

  There is clutter all over my kitchen table.

  Papers I’ve printed. Documents I’ll use as proof. The highlights and circles a road map of truths. The missing link they needed that I never even knew I had.

  Then there’s the legalese I tried to understand. Things that Ryker would have been able to explain in seconds, but I couldn’t ask him. Questions my private investigator could clear up for me, but my trust factor in general isn’t exactly high right now.

  Maybe I wasn’t crazy thinking stuff was moved in my office. Maybe Noah and Abel slipped in here to investigate themselves. It’s not exactly legal, but I have a feeling Abel doesn’t play by the rules most days.

  “Come on, Vaughn . . . think.”

  I shuffle through the papers again. The same ones I’ve read and reread so many times that I can’t see straight.

  With my hands on my hips, I nod.

  I can do this.

  I can make demands myself.

  And I can dangle the goddamn carrot to make them agree.

  My shower is long and hot, and when I step from it, I know more than anything that I can do this.

  I pick up the phone and dial Noah.

  He answers on the first ring.

  “I’d like to talk.” It’s all I say.

  “Meet us at Central Park. I’ll text you the location. See you there in an hour.”

  I take a breath to steady myself. “Yes.”

  And then I make my second call.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Vaughn

  “I want immunity,” I state as I look from Abel to Noah and back and revel in the surprised looks on their faces.

  “And just where do you get off thinking you get any say in this?” Abel says.

  “I will do this—invite Carter Preston with the promise of sex and then ask him whatever it is you want asked with whatever fake blackmail you have—and for that I want immunity from any prosecution. I also want a formal recommendation to social services without specifics that I am the better candidate to adopt my niece, Lucy. Either that or arrest my brother-in-law for drug possession with intent to distribute, but I believe that is way below your pay grade.”

  “Anything else, madam?” Abel asks with a smarmy smirk and a disbelieving laugh that tells me I’m reaching for the moon with my demands.

  I twist my lips and take a deep breath as I run through everything I’ve told myself I want. “Yes, I want Carter charged in connection with underage sex, and if he’s not, I just might release the information myself that the FBI chose to pass up.” That gets their attention, all right. “I also want a restraining and gag order on Carter Preston and his wife, Bianca Preston, from being able to come near me or speak about me publicly in any way.”

  Noah chortles and blows out a sigh. “And why should we agree to any of that? It should be you thanking us for letting you work off your bad deeds.”

  My smile is tight, my voice condescending. “Because while my good deeds will be fresh in your and the FBI’s mind now, who knows down the road what they will or won’t be. I want it in writing so no one can accidentally forget in the future.”

  “I have to give it to you, Vaughn. You’ve got some serious balls telling us how this is supposed to play out,” Abel says.

  “I’m aware.” Another sweet smile is followed by my comment. “But you need me.”

  Abel shakes his head and winds up to go off on me, but it’s Noah who’s taking in my smile and demeanor and holds his finger up for his partner to be quiet.

  “What is it?” Noah asks.

  “Get my demands for me in writing, and I’ll give you the one thing you don’t have.” Both men whip their heads up from where they are taking notes on their pads. “The proof that shows Carter Preston was in communication with Alpha Pharmaceuticals.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Ryker

  “You okay?” my mother asks as she looks at me from across the table.

  Sterling silver scrapes on fine china, and aged whiskey is poured into Waterford crystal.

  “Fine.” I survey the room but don’t find the one person I’m searching for. And it’s not like she’d be here anyway, but fuck if I’m not looking for Vaughn in every woman whose back is to me.

  “With that dreadful Roxanne out of the picture, I figured you’d be somewhat happier.”

  I all but choke on the sip of water I just took. “Roxanne? Out of the way? What are you talking about?”

  My mother waves a hand at me as if it’s no big deal. “Women talk, Ryker. That woman especially.”

  “What about her?” I say in a long, drawn-out sigh, not even bothering to hide the affair from my mother.

  “Well, it seems she’s finally moved on to some other man who’ll buy into her dramatics.”

  Now that? That gets my attention. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you remember Baron’s old friend Pierre? She’s dating his nephew now and making sure everyone knows it.”

  Good fucking riddance. “Where do you hear this shit?”

  “All women have their ways, dear.”

  “Apparently.”

  We fall into a lull as the waiter comes and goes, and my thoughts veer toward the women currently fucking with my life.

  “You’re still not talking,” my mother says.

  “I never talk much.”

  “It’s not that. What is it that’s bothering you?” she persists.

  “I told you. There’s nothing.”

  She narrows her eyes and studies me, her hands stilling on her silverware. “Are there holes in the drywall, Ryker?”

  “A shit ton,” I say without thinking, my mind preoccupied and already out of this stuffy restaurant I don’t even want to be at.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “Fuck if I know.” The four words come out in a sigh. The same four words I’ve been saying a lot of late.

  “Your mouth is very unrefined at the moment,” she scolds.

  “Yeah, well, it matches my mood.” I toy with my knife for a moment, trying to think about anything other than Vaughn and the goddamn hole she poked through my heart with her tears and puffy eyes and complete misery she wouldn’t explain to me yesterday. “Tell me something.”

  “Yes, darling?”

  “Did you ever hire a divorce attorney, pay him a retainer, but never actually file the papers?” I ask.

  Her laugh is low and telling. “Considering you’ve been my lawyer for two of them—”

  “Before me. Your first two marriages. Did you?”

  She purses her lips, and then a soft smile spreads on them. “Not that I can remember. If you hire an attorney, you’re pretty serious. Most of the time, people file, and once it becomes real is when they decide they want to talk to their spouse, and sometimes they work it out. Why?”

  “Nothing really. It’s just that I have a client I can’t figure out is all. She’s connected to my life in certain ways, and . . . I don’t know. The longer I work with her, the more I question her reasons for cont
acting me.”

  I can’t put my fucking finger on it. Any of it. Vaughn. Bianca. And only one of them I really want to.

  “Her?” she asks in surprise.

  “Yes. A woman.”

  Her eyes narrow, and a slight smile paints her lips. “You’ll figure it out, dear. You always do.” She pats my hand, and I order another drink.

  “Hey, you okay?” I ask, Vaughn more than surprising me when she answers the phone.

  “Mmm. Yeah. Getting there.” She sounds sleepy, like I want to curl up behind her and pull her against me.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Yes . . . but not yet.”

  “If you’re looking for some grand gesture to make you feel better—me holding a radio outside your bedroom window—I’m afraid boom boxes are dead, and Bluetooth speakers don’t exactly have the same effect.”

  Where the hell did that come from, Lockhart?

  But it earns a laugh from her, and God, does it do things to my insides I’d rather not admit.

  “Have you ever done something you know is wrong, but you do it anyway because it’s the right thing?” she asks and totally throws me for a loop.

  What is she getting at?

  “I think everyone has at some point in their life, don’t you?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm?” I ask. “Does this have anything to do with the other day?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Vaughn?”

  “If you made a mistake, I’d forgive you, you know. Just like I’d hope you’d forgive me.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Are you sure you’re okay?” In my mind I’m already halfway across the bridge to her house.

  “Yes. I’m fine.” Her breath hitches. “I’ve had a glass or two or three of wine. I miss you, Ryker.”

  “I miss you too. When can I see—”

  But I don’t get to finish my sentence because she ends the call.

  She might have just told me she misses me, but hell if it doesn’t feel like that was a goodbye.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Vaughn

  The pounding on the door startles me awake.

  The family room is pitch black, and for a moment I sit there thinking I’ve just had a nightmare.

  Then it starts again.

  Instinct has me moving toward the peephole, fearful it’s the police—that something has happened to Lucy—when it should have me pretending I’m not home and dialing 9-1-1.

  And I’m not sure if it’s the remnants of the bottle of wine still in my system, but when I see Ryker standing on my porch in the middle of the night—or is it early morning?—I open the door without question.

  His fist is midknock when I pull it open. There’s anger etched in the lines of his face, and concern owns every muscle in his expression as we stand a few feet apart.

  Without speaking a single word, Ryker frames both sides of my face and brings his lips to mine. The kiss starts out slow—a silent show of desperation—and has us both moving into the house, the door being kicked shut behind us.

  It’s heaven and hell at my fingertips. It’s certainty and doubt in my touch.

  It’s him.

  It’s Ryker.

  And I need him more than I’ve ever needed him before.

  We undress between kisses. Shirts and shoes and pants. The darkness of the night hiding the things we’re still keeping from each other. Secrets that are tearing me apart. A love I’m afraid to profess in case my world comes tumbling down around me.

  He moves from memory down the hallway and lays me on the bed, his mouth between my thighs before I have a chance to protest. Before I can stop him from making me even more vulnerable than I already feel.

  His fingertips part me, and his tongue makes its slow descent to dip inside me before sliding back up and circling around my clit.

  The groan he emits into the room is like his fingertips dancing over my most intimate of flesh—all-consuming and everywhere at once.

  There is no urgency. No rush to get me off. Just a slow dance of his mouth and the soft slide of his tongue as he worships me in a way no one ever has.

  And when the warm wave of bliss hits me with its pulsing vibrations, I allow myself to fall prey to him once more. I let him have one more piece of me I’ll never be able to get back.

  He rises to his knees and presses a row of kisses up my thigh to my navel. He rests his forehead there as his fingers reach out to find mine.

  “I love you, Vaughn.” His words float out into the room and make every part of me he didn’t just warm with his tongue light on fire.

  “Ryk—”

  “No. I love you, and I’m sick of pretending that I don’t because you’re not ready to hear it. I love you, Vaughn Sanders, and I don’t know what the hell is going on right now, but I know whenever it’s done and over with, I’ll still love you.”

  We stay like that for a few moments, entangled in every way imaginable. When he slips into me like a soft sigh moments later, tears course down my cheeks and fall to the pillow beneath my head.

  I love you too, Ryker.

  I’m just so afraid I’m going to lose you.

  Everything I’ve loved before I’ve lost.

  But I close my eyes and force myself to live in the moment. To feel his sweet push in and soft grind on the way out. To memorize his hiss of pleasure. To revel in the way he touches me—as if he can’t get enough of me and how he never wants to.

  And when he leaves the house under the same cover of night he came to me in, he doesn’t ask any questions, and he doesn’t beg me to explain the tears he kissed from my cheeks as he brought us pleasure. He just kisses me tenderly one last time and trusts that I’ll tell him the truth when the time is right.

  Yes.

  I love you, Ryker Lockhart.

  More than you’ll ever know.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Ryker

  “I have to admit, this is a first if I’ve ever had one before.” I shake my head and stare at the speaker on my desk phone as if Bianca can see me through it.

  Obviously she can’t, but it doesn’t stop me from doing it.

  “You didn’t deliver on what you promised,” she accuses.

  “I didn’t deliver?” My voice starts to rise in pitch. “How about you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain? How about every question I asked you to answer took weeks to get a half-assed response?” My temper simmers to boiling at her accusations. “How about it feels like you hired me to represent you as some kind of fucked-up challenge to your husband? You never had any intention of actually filing for divorce. You just wanted to make sure to put him in his place by letting him know you could. By waltzing in here with some outrageous check as if it were some kind of challenge to see if I would throw it in his face.”

  “You’re fired, Mr. Lockhart.” Her voice is cold and unfeeling, just like she is.

  “Good. I’ll gladly cease representation. I refuse to be a pawn in your dysfunctional relationship.”

  She chuckles for some reason. “You already were.”

  “Good. Great. Go play your fucked-up games with some other firm. I won’t be manipulated.”

  “I’ll expect my retainer returned less the small amount of billable hours, which are yours, of course. Promptly.”

  I’m dumbfounded as she sits on the other end of the connection with her demands and bitchiness.

  “Fine,” I finally answer.

  The dial tone meets my ears.

  I lean back in my chair, put my feet up on the desk, and steeple my fingers in front of me as I think.

  What the fuck was that?

  Definitely a first.

  One I don’t want to repeat.

  So this is what it feels like to be fired.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Vaughn

  “Not very smart, Vaughn.”

  I startle when I see Abel and Noah at my front door. They push their way past me without asking and shut the door behind
them.

  “What do you mean?” My voice jitters in a way I’ve never heard it before—pure fear. Especially when I see the handcuffs hanging from Abel’s belt loop.

  He didn’t have those last time.

  Why does he have them now?

  Do they think I’m bluffing on having proof? Are they not going to grant me immunity?

  They both stare at me as I shake my head and tears well in my eyes.

  “So you give us ultimatums. Then you call Ryker. His car arrives shortly thereafter and remains parked here for three hours in the dead of night and you think we won’t notice?”

  “I didn’t care if you noticed,” I say with a partial laugh to hide my nerves. “Isn’t a girl allowed to see her boyfriend for some much-needed sex?”

  I hope my truth will shock them some. Will make them realize I’m not playing the games they seem to think I am. And the surprised expressions my statement causes tells me I might just have succeeded.

  “Sex?” Abel asks.

  “Yes. A booty call,” I say and hate that it cheapens everything about what Ryker and I shared, but I also refuse to tell them that. “I wasn’t aware I couldn’t see him.”

  “The tough-girl act doesn’t fool us, Vaughn,” Noah says.

  “Or shock us,” Abel interjects. “You’d be surprised the things people lie about to try to throw us off track.”

  “Why would I do that? Throw you off track.”

  “Ah, is that your precursor to get out of explaining your big buyout? Let me guess—you’re going to refuse to cooperate with us now?” Abel accuses. “You can handle us all on your own, you can afford some big hotshot attorney who can explain it all away and—”

  His words make no sense. I admitted to seeing Ryker. I’m not lying. So what is the big deal here?

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Abel crosses his arms over his chest and assumes his pose of intimidation against the wall. “So what, you were just stringing us along until you could see who the highest bidder was?”

  “You.” I point a finger at Abel. “You need to stop with the cryptic bullshit and just come out and say it. I haven’t slept well in the past few days, so I’m having a helluva time following whatever else it is you’re accusing me of.”