EDGE OF HONOR: On The Edge Duet: Book One

by Chance, Jacob

  “I’m not judgemental. There are right decisions and wrong decisions. You could choose to change your behavior whenever you want.”

  “And what about you?”

  “What about me?” She scowls.

  “It’s interesting that you find yourself in a situation where you had to do the wrong thing to save yourself.”

  “I have to be alive if I want to find answers. I couldn’t just wait around for someone to shoot at me again. Next time their bullets may hit their mark. We need to know who’s after us and who killed Karyn,” she explains.

  I hold my hands palms up in front of me. “You don’t need to explain to me, I get it. But there are solid reasons for all my choices too. Sometimes we don’t have the luxury of choosing the law-abiding option.”

  “Are you trying to convince me your empire is all an accident? That you were a victim of your circumstances and it just happened to make you a very wealthy man?” Skepticism thickly coats her tone.

  “When I was a child in Ireland, I didn’t have a choice. I did what I was told or I’d suffer the consequences. And the punishments were no fucking picnic. The way I was raised and where we lived shaped me into who I am today and that’s the reason I can do whatever’s necessary to survive.”

  “I’m sorry you had a difficult childhood, but you’re a grown man who can make solid decisions if he wants to.”

  “We all play our roles in this world, and mine was defined long ago—too long to change now. There’s a reason why you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, Georgie--they don’t want to learn.” I lean closer, making sure she absorbs my next words. “But make no mistake, when I lay my head down on my pillow at night, I feel no remorse.”

  “None?” she asks.

  I check my head from side to side. “And I don’t expect you to understand. In fact, I’m glad you don’t. It means that your childhood didn’t tarnish you or turn you into something you didn’t want to be until you finally accepted the new version as gospel and buried the old one.”

  She chews on her bottom lip, gaze locked on mine. “I’m sorry you had it so tough.” I wait for the but that never comes and breathe a sigh of relief when it doesn’t.

  “How about some lunch?”

  * * *

  “Mmm,” she moans. “You make a mean sandwich, I’ll give you that.”

  “I’m a man of many talents. You just haven’t had a chance to see them all yet. Just you wait.” I wink.

  “Do you cook actual meals or just make sandwiches?”

  “I can cook, but I don’t enjoy doing so. I have someone who prepares meals for me during the week, and on the weekends I fend for myself. I don’t have a lot of free time, so it helps if my meals are ready to go.”

  “What keeps you so busy besides the dispensary?”

  I grimace and shake my head. “I still can’t believe it’s gone. Feck, I loved that place.”

  “You can rebuild it,” she offers in a conciliatory tone.

  “We’ll see what happens. There will be all kinds of paperwork and red tape to cut through before that can happen.” And there’s no way I’m going to be able to return to my life as it was before the explosion. Right now, I’m their prime suspect and they’re wasting precious time searching for me instead of the person responsible.

  “You never answered my question. What keeps you so busy?”

  “You mentioned that I’m a criminal mastermind. Do you think that’s something I come by naturally?” I jest. “It takes a lot of work.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I can only imagine. But I’m being serious. I’m curious about what else you do.”

  “I own various businesses.”

  “Legit businesses?”

  “Absolutely. I know you have this vision of me as some super villain, but there’s nothing special about me, Georgie. There’s good and evil in me just like every other person walking this earth. There’s no darkness without light. One can’t exist without the other.”

  She arches a brow in question.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just taking it all in. Keep going, oh wise one.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me.”

  “No, really. I want to hear the rest of what you were going to say. Please continue.”

  I shrug. “We’re all just shades of gray, some of us operate in the darker tones while others, like you, live somewhere on the lighter end of the spectrum.” She stares at me thoughtfully. I pop a chip in my mouth and watch her while I chew.

  “That’s an interesting way of looking at things.”

  “It’s basic human behavior. Do you believe people are inherently evil from birth?”

  Her forehead crinkles between her brows as she ponders my question. “I don’t know. I want to say no, but I’ve seen some really evil shit since I’ve been an agent, so I’m not sure I can be objective.”

  I know she’s seen horrible things in the line of duty. I witnessed some of them last year when I helped the FBI on a case, and also two days ago when someone tried to end us. Georgia didn’t panic at all. She fought back admirably, earning even more of my respect.

  I take a sip of ice water and place the glass down on the table. “I think people are driven to evil by their circumstances. And I’m not saying that as an excuse for my own shortcomings. I’m sure there’s mental illness that factors into the mix, too, but how many murderers grew up in stable environments with loving parents? I bet the statistics favor what I’m saying.”

  “You’re not wrong, but it’s not that cut and dried. Not all abused children go on to become serial killers, and there are serial killers who weren’t abused. There’s a definite connection between the two, though. I remember learning about this in college. Environment, genetics, personality, trauma,” she ticks them off on her fingers, “and I’m sure I’m missing some, but they all motivate serial killer behavior.”

  “Where did you go to college?”

  “University of Hartford. What about you?”

  “Oh, Georgie, do you really think I went to university?”

  Her shoulders rise in a quick jump. “It’s possible.”

  “No, it wasn’t. When did you start working for the FBI?” I don’t want to talk about myself. I want to know everything about her.

  “About five years ago.”

  “What did you do before that?”

  “I was a police officer in my hometown.”

  A smile arcs up the corners of my lips as I imagine her in a police uniform. I bet she’d make it look unbelievably hot. “How old are you?”

  “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask a woman her age,” she teases.

  “When have you known me to be a rule follower, luv?”

  “True.” She bobs her head agreeing. “I’m thirty-six. What about you?”

  “Forty-one.”

  She narrows her eyes, studying my face. “You don’t look your age.”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “I guess I am. Hard living hasn’t hurt you any.”

  “Near death experiences are good for my skin, I guess.” I chuckle. “If by hard living you mean using drugs, that’s never been my thing. Unless you’re talking about the devil’s lettuce. Green has always been my favorite color and not just because I’m Irish.”

  “It’s good that you have limits.”

  “I saw too many people fuck their lives up with drugs when I was a kid. And as fucked up as my parents were, they lectured me on the evils of them.”

  Georgia pushes the last bite of her sandwich between her lips and brushes the crumbs from her hands. She stands. “I’d like to take a shower, if you don’t mind.”

  I rise. “Why would I mind? Let me show you to your room.” I gesture for her to proceed me into the house. “The bedrooms are upstairs.” I point to the staircase and she jogs up each step. My eyes automatically fasten on her round ass, like any red blooded male’s would, before gliding downward over her long, lean legs.

>   She reaches the top and I avert my gaze before she catches me ogling her.

  “Follow me,” I say, leading her to the right side of the split hallway. Opening the first door on the left, I wait for her to enter.

  “Oh, wow.” She heads straight for the enormous custom sliding glass door on the back side of her room. “What a view.”

  I stop next to her and open the door wide. “It’s just as impressive from up here.” The ocean breeze teases the curtains on either side of the slider.

  “Can we stay here and hide out forever?” she jokes, and my heart beats out an emphatic Y.E.S. If only that were a possibility.

  I’ve never wanted to give up my lifestyle for anyone, but Georgia isn’t just any woman. It’s taken all of my willpower to keep my distance for the past year. And now that we’ve been thrust back together, it’s going to be one hundred times harder to keep things platonic. My levelheadedness and self-preservation seems to suffer whenever she’s around.

  I step back and clap my hands together. “I’m going to let you have some time to yourself. There should be clothes in the dresser for you, and if you need anything else give a shout.” I head to the door.

  “Thank you, Belfast.”

  I glance back at her and a small smile curves her plump lips. “You’re welcome, Georgie.”

  My chest aches with an unfamiliar longing as I walk down the stairs. I wish I could have a brief reprieve from our lives so I could have a chance to be with her. I wish I could take a time-out from my hard living ways without any repercussions. I’d make the most of the opportunity by spending the time naked with Georgia. I’d fuck her out of my system once and for all.

  But this is real life and there are no time-outs. Our lives are at stake and there’s no taking a break from that truth. Unfortunately, there’s no room for romance, even a short one.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Georgia

  After my shower, I look through the dresser drawers and find everything I need, except when it comes to a bathing suit. There are two bikinis, and neither of them offer much in the way of coverage. I slip on the black bottoms and a matching top before adding pink running shorts and a gray tank top. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I look over my reflection. Everything fits me well.

  How did his caretaker know what size to purchase?

  Did Belfast tell Mikey?

  But how would he know what to say unless he’s experienced at buying women’s clothing?

  He probably has a harem of mistresses in the Boston area and has had lots of practice purchasing gifts for them. My stomach turns with distaste.

  Don’t think about that.

  Besides, what does it matter?

  It’s not like he and I are going to have a relationship.

  I brush my teeth and find a comb in the vanity drawer to remove the tangles from my hair. Since I’m not officially working, I don’t bother with a ponytail. I might as well enjoy one of the perks of not being in the office.

  I hesitate when Nash’s face pops into my head. He must be furious that I’m with Belfast. Is he disappointed in me? Or has he figured out that I had no choice but to come with Belfast?

  It’s not like I can call him and tell him where we are. I have no way of informing him that I had no choice but to run with Belfast; my phone was left in my car back in Boston.

  We don’t know who’s behind the shootout yesterday, but we can’t stay here forever. At some point soon we’ll have to move on before we can be tracked down, and somehow, I’m going to find a way to make it right with Nash.

  I find a pair of new flip flops beside the bureau and slip them on my feet. Time to head downstairs and see what Belfast’s plan is.

  Stepping out onto the back deck, I find him lying on a cushioned chaise lounge. I move closer, eyes roaming over every inch of his bare torso. Purple bruises paint his ribs and I want to press healing kisses to the area. Well-defined muscles tempt me and I barely resist the urge to reach out and touch him.

  His eyes, covered in sunglasses, prevent me from knowing if he’s aware of my careful perusal. At this point it really doesn’t matter. I’ve spent enough time with him to realize he knows what an attractive bastard he is.

  And he knows I’m not unaffected by him.

  Walking past him, I kick off my flip flops before going down the handful of stairs. Hot sand cushions my feet and I sigh in appreciation of the blissful feeling. I love everything about the beach and it’s been too long since I spent any time at one.

  My feet burrow deeper into the soft sand with each step I take. There are only a few other people on the beach and they’re in the opposite direction from where I’m walking.

  Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of the sun on my face for a few seconds before I focus on where I’m going once more. I breathe deep, smelling the tang of salt water as waves crash against the shore, sending sea spray flying in all directions. Seagulls swoop down, searching for dropped food and call out when they don’t find any. It’s music to my ears.

  Restorative.

  That’s my word for being at the beach. I always feel at peace when I’m near the ocean. Being here stimulates all of my senses in the best way possible. I feel more alive, which is ironic considering I’ve almost been killed numerous times in the last three days.

  But if my time on earth is going to end soon, I’d rather spend my final days in my favorite place. And as far as beaches go, this one is peaceful and picturesque. Not too shabby. Belfast did a good job when he chose his beach house location.

  Belfast--what a complex character he is. I don’t think I could figure him out even if I had one hundred years to unravel everything that’s made him who he is. I have a feeling he’d keep surprising me, no matter how much time passed.

  I walk about a quarter of a mile before I begin an easy jog. The soft sand makes it harder, but the challenge is welcome. It feels great to work my legs after all the riding in the car. Not to mention that with everything going on, I haven’t been able to hit the gym.

  Fitness is important to me, not only because my life can depend on it, but it’s a great release from the daily pressures of working in law enforcement.

  When I’m ready to turn around, I move to the edge of the shoreline, letting my burning hot soles sink into the cool wet sand. It feels amazing and I can’t resist kicking up the water like a little kid as it rolls over my feet.

  By the time I’m back to the beach house, I decide a swim would be the perfect way to cap off my workout.

  Setting my shorts and tank top on the deck stairs, I run into the ocean and dive under a wave. The water is on the cool side, but it’s the middle of September and summer can’t last forever.

  Being from Boston, cold ocean water is the only kind I know. But ocean swimming this late into September isn’t something I typically get to do, so I want to make the most of this opportunity.

  I start swimming parallel to the shoreline, turning around when I approach other people in the water. After about fifteen minutes of doing the breaststroke, I feel something brush my leg. I raise my head, emitting a squeal, and expect to see a shark about to make a meal out of me. Instead, I find a different kind of predator—Belfast. He stands waist deep with a shit eating grin on his face.

  “You asshole.” I push water at him, trying to splash his face, but it falls short, landing on his chest. My eyes stroke over the muscle laden wall with sea water now trickling down it.

  He barks out a laugh and dives toward me. I squeal once more and try to run away, but he wraps an iron hard forearm around my middle, pulling me back against him. “Not so fast, luv.”

  “Let me go.” I thrash, doing my best to get free, all the while laughing.

  “Looks like I caught a live one.”

  “You’re not going to be alive for long if you don’t let me go.”

  “I’ll take my chances, Georgie. All this squirming you’re doing is only getting me worked up.”

  I halt all mo
vement and he chuckles. Pulling my back tighter to his chest, he splays an open hand on my stomach.

  His hard cock is impossible to miss pressing against my ass and blurring lines between us. I’m not sure if I want to bend over or turn around and climb him.

  What I should be doing is running out of this water as fast as my capable legs will carry me and put as much distance between us as possible.

  Before my indecision clears, he settles both his hands on my hips and throws me. I sail through the air before sinking under the water. My head breaks the surface to the sound of Belfast’s deep laughter, and I find myself joining him, water sputtering from my mouth at the same time.

  “I’m sorry, luv, but I couldn’t resist.”

  I’m not about to complain when he did us both a favor. Things were becoming heated fast and we were about to cross a line neither of us would be able to uncross.

  “How are you feeling after that?” I question. His ribs must be sore after he just threw me.

  He shrugs. “You’re light as a feather.”

  I laugh. I’m not a tiny girl. I’m strong and leanly muscled. “Let me see those ribs.”

  He holds his arms straight out at both sides and turns in a slow circle.

  “Holy hell,” I murmur, but I’m not talking about his bruised ribs. I’m too busy looking at his perfectly honed physique, wondering how it’s possible for a man his age to look so amazing under his clothes. His torso, littered with scars, as if he’s been in many battles, only makes him seem more attractive. There’s a wildness about him that makes me want to be the one to tame him. But I’m smart enough to realize that’s an impossibility. No one can tame Belfast. To try would be a waste of time. He’ll never be the nine-to-five type or the family man I’m looking for.

  Belfast faces me once more with a knowing glint in his eyes. He caught me practically drooling over his body. My gaze lowers to his ribs and I take in all the bruising.

  I point to his stomach. “You really should put some ice on those bruises.”