by Zoe Hill
Without acknowledging Gareth, Dad takes hold of Emmaline’s hair and drags her across the icy cold floor until she’s beneath the feet of the hanging men. He uses his foot to send her sprawling onto her stomach. She screams, a sound filled with terror that echoes around the cooler. G jerks like he’s been hit. He makes a move to go to her, but I hold him back.
“Let him handle it,” I murmur. “He’ll scare her into silence.”
“God, I hope so. I can’t let Dad kill her.” Gareth meets my eyes. He lets his mask drop and I see his desperation. “She hates me now, but I would rather see that every day than know I’m responsible for her death.”
His morose assessment jabs me in the chest. I can’t imagine feeling like that about anyone, yet it’s clear that Gareth is telling the truth. It’s unexpected because everyone knows that he’s constantly dipping his dick in the starfuckers who chase rich and powerful men like him, seemingly without a second thought about his wife at home. His honesty galvanizes me into action. I stride over to the first man. My father flips Emmaline over onto her back and crouches next to her to hold her head straight so she can’t look away.
She shrieks when I place the end of the pistol against his forehead and pull the trigger. One by one, I end the lives of the other three men, then I stoop down over her and place the hot muzzle against her neck. Dad steps away when she whimpers as I get right in her face.
“Open your mouth and that’ll be you.” Emmaline widens her dark-brown eyes just enough for me to see that while she’s cowed, there’s still some fight in her. Leaning close enough for my breath to warm her ear, I state in a voice we can all hear, “Go on, tell someone what you saw. I haven’t had a reason to skin a six-year-old alive so far this year.”
This threat finishes her. I watch her spirit break. The shattered pieces of her pride and courage puncture her soul, and she scampers to her knees, then crawls as fast as she can back to Gareth. The hitch in her movements tells me that she was beaten prior to being brought here. As I battle the shame that’s pricking my conscience, I notice that her legs are covered in blood, her tattered dress is bunched around her hips, and her blonde hair is now almost the same color as Poppy’s from the blood splatter that’s landed on her. Gareth picks up his shaking wife and she presses her face into the crook of his neck.
Emmaline Averell will never view the world the same, and that’s on my head.
As much as I try to tell myself that I broke the woman to save her, the ugly smear of filth that taints another inch of my conscience says otherwise.
Day by day, I inch closer to becoming as evil as my father.
With Poppy’s gorgeous face at the forefront of my mind, the desire to get out of here overwhelms me.
“I’m sure you’re capable of organizing a clean-up team to finish this off.” Handing Dad the pistol, I sneer, “If you’re good enough to handle Roman’s dirty work, I guess you’re capable of handling mine. I’ve got another job to finish.”
A strange look invades his apathetic expression. Ignoring my father, I incline my head toward Gareth as I walk past. He shoots me a look filled with gratitude that soothes some of the guilt raging inside me.
“When you see her next, make sure you ask her where she worshipped as a child,” my father shouts after me. I manage to keep my stride from faltering, even though his insinuation wedges in my brain. “Say hi to the pastor for me.”
Shoving open the cooler door, I walk out without answering my father. Fucking with my head is his favorite past time and the best thing to do when he tries is to ignore him. As I strip off the coveralls and dress in my suit again, I do my best to avoid allowing his riddles to infiltrate my mind further than they already have. As per usual, he’s trying to manufacture a reaction from me with his suggestions and leading questions.
I’m not going to fall for it this time.
I’m almost certain that I’ll be able to ward his allusions off until I’m driving out of the Coalition’s complex and a recollection pushes to the forefront of my mind…
Didn’t Eitan say that the Samaritan’s Soldiers have a pastor in their ranks?
Is there a connection between the Coalition and the MC that predates this job?
As quickly as that question dawns, another, much stronger, realization has me pulling to the side of the street in a squeal of tires. Sweat dampens my brow and my hands shake. I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and breath through my nose to fight off the guilt that begins to choke me.
Trigger deserted me in the cooler.
The dirty deeds I just completed were done by Spenser.
FOURTEEN
“It's a lot easier to sabotage your career than to have a career to sabotage.” ~Win Butler~
POPPY
“What did he want?” I corner Bella in the female bathroom. The previous five and a half hours of my shift were spent worrying about my family and plotting how to get out of database duty until I saw Bella emerge from our Lieutenant’s office an hour ago. She was on the verge of tears, and now that I’ve managed to get her by herself, I’m not letting her go without an answer. “I can tell that you’re upset, so speak to me. It’ll make you feel better.”
“It’s—ah, I can’t… just let me be, Poppy,” Bella muddles her way through a whispered explanation of sorts. With her back to me, she leans down to steady herself by leaning her hands on the basin. I’m going to question her again when she sobs, “I’ve been demoted. They’re sending me to the outer boroughs.”
“When? Why? How?”
Swinging around to face me with tears rolling down her cheeks, Bella blurts, “Effective immediately… and I don’t know. Lieutenant wouldn’t give me anything more than the usual ‘operational reasons’ bullshit.”
She’s wobbly on her feet, so I lead her to the benches that line the wall opposite the shower cubicles and make her take a seat. I pull Bella’s head to my shoulder and hold her shuddering body as tight as I can. The injustice of the situation starts to weigh down on me and I feel tears well in my eyes. This is completely unfair. We’ve never been separated, not even when the internal office politics and bouts of misogyny from the good ol’ boys club tried to get between us.
In my own selfish way, I wish I could snap my fingers and return my life back to normal. Five days ago, while Ollie was still alive, Seb was nothing but a blight in my past, and mine and Bella’s careers were on the right trajectory. I’m not proud of it, but I’ve hidden behind Bella since rumors about my families less than legal activities began to follow me onto the job. She’s a powerhouse, kicking down doors, literal and figurative, and defending me whether I wanted her to or not.
“I’ll speak to him, or we can lodge an appeal.”
Bella lifts her head to glare at me. “No, you won’t do a thing. It’ll only make it worse.”
“Are you sure?” I venture slowly. “What if I try to contact Renee again? I know her office said she was unavailable earlier, but she might be free to help now.”
“Just leave it, Poppy. I saw a file with your name on Lieutenant Ashford’s desk. You’re probably next, so let’s not make this worse for ourselves.”
Before I can question her further, Bella rises back to her feet and swipes at her damp face. She peers down at me, and I think she’s about to elaborate on what she thinks is going on until she spins around and storms out of the bathroom with her head held high. The heavy door slams shut in her wake and I slump forward to hide my face in my hands. Every time I try to think about her parting words, my heart leaps into my throat. I work to swallow the thick lump that’s choking as the tiled walls of the restrooms begin to close in on me.
I hate this for both of us.
I loathe my inability to see this coming even more.
Lieutenant Ashford was stiff with me when we crossed paths at the start of my shift, but I’d written it off as tiredness since his under-eye bags were more prominent, and he had a noticeable hangdog slump in his posture than he did when I clocked out four days
ago. Considering that it’s well known that he’s sleeping with Chelsea goddamn Vertes behind his wife’s back, seeing my Lieutenant tired isn’t exactly rare. If he spent more time at home and less time jeopardizing his career with his young lover, he’d probably find himself sleeping better.
Jerking upright as that thought causes my mouth to drop open in disbelief, I silently seethe as I snap my teeth together and screw up my nose.
“God help that bitch if she’s behind this.”
My pledge bounces off the walls of the empty room, propelling me forward to hunt down my number one enemy. As the door smacks the wall, I barrel straight into the person I was searching for.
I don’t bother to regain my balance before I’m laying into her. “You, goddamned, bitchy—”
“Oh, Poppy,” Chelsea speaks over me in a shrill, obnoxious voice that draws the other officers’ attention to us. Taking hold of my upper arms, she holds me out from her and inspects me with an expression similar to that of the old spinster aunt we all avoid at Christmas. “Marcus was just looking for you. He seems to think there’s trouble brewing in the precinct, and I told him that if there is you would be at the center of it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you did.” My tone is filled with enough hostility to make her take a step back from me. “Did you make this suggestion during pillow talk, or was it whispered in his ear while you sucked him off in his office?”
Slapping a hand over her heart, Chelsea glances around the precinct. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My behavior is above reproach… yours, huh… well…not so much. We all know about your family’s ongoing run-ins with the law and how you supply them information to circumvent prosecution.”
She did not just go there… not after I publicly nailed her bullshit to the wall and crucified her.
The moral high ground does not belong to this crazy bitch.
Chelsea smirks at me and my temper revs from a five to five hundred in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, my mouth is filled with all the words I’ve wanted to lob at her over the years and they volley from my mouth with the precision of tennis balls out of a professional ball launcher. “Prove it! I know I’ve done nothing wrong, and I also know that your lying, snotty, unprofessional, plastic Barbie-wannabe self, had to fuck your way into a job, because your useless flat ass couldn’t find probable cause if an actual felony bit you on the nose, let alone evidence of one that doesn’t damn well exist.”
Nostrils flaring, I glare at her hard enough to incinerate her on the spot if only my eyes were radioactive.
More’s the pity.
“So, go on, I dare you. Try to pin your bullshit on me.”
“I—I, you… bitch.” As Chelsea stammers, her minions come to her aid. They stand at her back with their arms crossed over their chest, and although I can see that she’s still rocked by my verbal lashing, their presence is giving her the confidence to bite back at me. “Well, I don’t have to prove anything. Marcus will… after he stands you down tonight and finalizes his investigation into you and Commander Clearwater.”
My conscience pricks when she throws Renee’s name in my face. The unanswered phone call I made a couple of hours ago to request help chisels its way back into my head and I feel the color drain from my face. What I wanted to ask of my Commander isn’t illegal, per se, but it definitely skirts the line.
How did the Lieutenant and Chelsea find out so quickly?
Am I the reason Bella’s been demoted?
When Chelsea fists her hands, I ball my fingers together and assume an offensive stance. I’m ready to flatten her if she attempts to hit me. A familiar perfume becomes apparent seconds before I feel Bella stand behind me. The squelching of linoleum under hard soles denotes the involvement of the rest of my precinct, and when no one else moves to Chelsea’s side, I bite back a smug grin.
“Every one of you is out of line,” Chelsea blusters. “Marcus will not allow this workplace bullying to continue.”
As I open my mouth to laugh at her presumptuous deflection, the door labelled Lieutenant Marcus Ashford swings open, and my boss and a woman who simply drips with the arrogance of an Internal Affairs investigator step out into our standoff.
“Explain this situation, Detective Vertes,” our Lieutenant demands of Chelsea.
Before Chelsea can answer, the Internal Affairs officer speaks, “I think it’s evident that your precinct is out of control. It appears that I’m exactly where I need to be, wouldn’t you agree?”
The atmosphere grows heavy, the tension between our groups decelerating into a slow-motion sequence where we look from the interloper to our Lieutenant as we wait for this to play out. Collectively holding our breath, my group seems to huddle closer while Chelsea and her minions turn into statues. Complete with a blank countenance and the rigid bearing that telegraphs their desire to become invisible, Chelsea and her bitch brigade appear ready to plead guilty to anything the IA agent submits if it means they can leave here unscathed.
Regret shoots through me and I begin to feel like I overreacted until I remember Bella’s devastation in the changeroom and her warning that I’m probably next. It hardens my conscience into marble, and I glare at Chelsea when she shuffles backward to seek protection with her secret boyfriend. When he steps away from her and crosses his arms over his chest like a shield, vindication invades my veins.
Maybe I’m going to be okay, after all?
“Can you follow me, Ms. Tennyson.”
“It’s Detective Tennyson,” I quip.
“Is it?” the IA detective retorts. My absolution dissolves in front of my eyes when I’m beckoned into the office my superiors just left. Pulse racing, I follow them inside and try not to jump when the door is shut with a decisive bang. Surprisingly, my lieutenant takes the seat next to mine and the IA detective—I glance at her name tag—Rebecca Barrington takes his usual position behind the desk. When she pulls a tablet from her oversized bag and taps at the screen, I try to get a read on the situation.
From her perfect, blonde chignon to her black framed glasses, down her dark-marle pant suit, to the sensible shoes I spied on her feet on the way in here, Rebecca Barrington is a picture of comforting competence. Her expression is calm. Her movements are economically made. Her bearing is filled with righteousness.
Under other circumstances, I’d empathize with her. I know what it’s like to be the misunderstood moral arbiter in a group. That’s how I usually feel around my parents. Despite Bella’s warning and Chelsea’s insinuation, I try to hold onto my hope that this is all a misunderstanding that can be easily sorted. Since I can feel Lieutenant Ashford’s discomfort emanating from him in waves and I remain uncertain exactly who’s under investigation, I hold tight to my optimism and sit up straight in my chair as we wait for her to speak.
“Do you know a man named Trigger?” Detective Barrington lobs her question at me without looking up from her tablet.
“No.” My response comes quickly because it’s the truth.
“Hmmm.” After one final swipe at the screen, she drops the device onto the table and peers at me with eyes brimming with curiosity. Steepling her hands under her chin and leaning her elbows on top of the paperwork that covers the desk, she spears me straight in the heart with her next statement. “He’s a contract killer used by Harrison Greaves and his ilk.”
“O-kay. I didn’t know that, and I don’t know him.”
“That may be the case, however, it appears that he knows you, and your brothers. Your parents. The Samaritan’s Soldiers motorcycle club that your family founded. Commander Renee Clearwater also seems to have a misplaced interest in Harrison Greaves… to the point where we believe a contract may have been placed on her life… and yours. Would you say that the Samaritan’s Soldiers MC has a history of dabbling in vigilante justice that might bring their operation to the attention of criminals like Harrison Greaves and his hitman?”
I shake my head to ward off the bad feeling that’s creeping up my spine. “No, it’s not
like that.”
“Then explain what it is like, Detective Tennyson? Because from my position, I was sent to this precinct to investigate allegations of inappropriate conduct between a superior and his subordinate, only to discover that we might potentially have two detectives, a Lieutenant, and a Commanding Officer leaking information to a criminal organization. I’m sure you can understand my concern here?”
Bottom lip trembling, I stumble through my explanation, “I don’t know anyone named Trigger. Detective Archimedes has nothing to do with any of this, and neither does Commander Clearwater. The only connection my family and I had with Harrison Greaves was twenty-one years ago when he s-sexually abused me for four months while my dad was the head priest at a church in the diocese H-Harr-i-son’s family attended. After I spoke up about the abuse, my family left the st-state, changed our last name to escape the rumors, and we’ve never seen or heard from him again.”
My breathing is shallow, my body shaking, and I’m on the verge of bursting into tears by the time I finish refuting her thinly veiled accusations. Her obvious satisfaction with my reaction sets my teeth on edge, and I gird myself to withstand any further questions.
She says nothing.
I remain silent.
Lieutenant Ashford clears his throat. “Now that we’ve cleared up your misconceptions of myself and Poppy, I believe your business here is concluded. Please feel free to submit your report as soon as it’s convenient… I look forward to reading about our exoneration.”
