No Good Truth (Bad To Be Good, Book 2)

by Dana Volney

  Grace’s death would not go unanswered.

  “I don’t think the cops have made the connection to the club or the gang yet,” Sabene continued. “Her name probably got scrubbed from the employee records, if they even had it written down in the first place.”

  “Do they know how she was killed?” Rife stood behind the couch. She hadn’t heard him come in. For as big of a man as he was, he moved like a damn cat. He appeared to be having a silent conversation with Samson. One that also looked suspicious.

  “They haven’t made anything official, but from what I’ve intercepted, they’re saying strangulation.” Sabene’s face fell. “And she’d been raped.”

  Claire clenched her teeth hard as she dried off her hand. She knew just who to blame for this brutality. Padarn would be stopped. Today.

  “Time of death?” Samson asked.

  “Between two and three this morning,” Sabene read from her tablet.

  “That’s well after we left.” Rife glanced down at Samson, who acknowledged with a nod. Again with their information-sharing silence.

  “I told you.” Claire left her unmade cup of tea on the counter. “I knew she was in trouble. Why didn’t you let me help her? Why couldn’t you have just given in this one time and let me go in and get her?” She didn’t try to hide the flames in her stare. She wanted Samson to know how pissed she was. And she wanted to see regret in his eyes in return. This was on him. Grace’s death was on both of them. They could’ve done more. They’d done more in the past with a lot less than a life on the line.

  “Did you want me to drag her out of there kicking and screaming?” Samson raised his brows.

  “It would’ve been better than watching naked women dance for their dinner and do fucking nothing.”

  “I’m telling you, she wasn’t scared.”

  “I can back him up on that.” Rife folded his arms over his giant chest. He could try to be authoritative all he wanted. It wasn’t going to work. She didn’t believe them.

  This was bullshit. She didn’t do something before for Grace, but she could do something now. “I, um,” she paused for good measure, “I’m not feeling well.” She rubbed her forehead and welcomed the comfort. Her headache was back in full force. “I think I’ll just go home and let you guys figure this out.”

  She respected each and every one of them for the skills they brought to the table. But this was something she needed to do on her own.

  “Can I take the SUV?” she asked Samson and held out her hand.

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “No. I want to be alone.”

  “Do you want me to take you to a doctor? We’re supposed to get you checked out again anyway.” He searched her face before pulling the keys from his pocket.

  “No. I’ll just lie down for a while and take it easy.” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek for good measure. The kiss would take his mind off whatever he was thinking she was about to do.

  “For the record,” he whispered. “I don’t believe you.”

  She got out of there before Samson decided to tag along despite her objection. He was right, though; she wasn’t going to rest. She didn’t need the sleep. She needed to solve a problem.

  She pointed the black SUV toward Samson’s house. She had weapons stashed at her apartment, but if she went there, Samson might figure out her amnesia secret. His place was closer anyway and time was of the essence—she had to take care of business before Samson dissected her act and figured out her true intentions. He had a whole cache of weapons at his house that would work just fine. All she really wanted was his sniper rifle.

  At his house, she punched in the code he used to use for his weapons vault built into the closet in the third bedroom, and held her breath. It popped open and the ends of her lips twitched up momentarily. So predictable.

  His sniper rifle was already disassembled and in a black back pack. She peeked in the case—cleaned and ready to be put together at a drop of a hat. And a new model from the looks of it. She checked to make sure rounds were stored in the front pouches. Yep, a box of twenty. If she got lucky, she’d use them all and wipe out every single one of the sons of bitches.

  She changed into her black cargo pants, black shirt, and grabbed her black gloves too. The afternoon sun would get warm, and she didn’t want her fingers slipping when she slow-pulled the trigger.

  This was the type of work Samson usually handled because he liked it. She’d been trained, used her sniping skills on occasion, but he was admittedly the better shot of the two. She liked her baton and hand-to-hand fighting. Besides, if she did her job right, she didn’t have to kill. But it would take way too long to con these assholes to take down the entire organization. This brand of justice would work for this murdering scum.

  She hopped back into the SUV and drove until she was in front of the movie theater that had been converted into Club Alegria. The marquee outside displayed the names of featured DJs for the weekend. It was Thursday. She kept driving, checking out the security patrolling the block. There were two guards who constantly walked the parameter in opposite directions. She’d had a lot of time to scope out the area when she and Samson were on their stakeout and knew exactly where she wanted to set up and how she’d get away. There was a business district across from the club, an office building that went up ten stories and small stores wrapped around the block on both sides.

  She parked around the corner on the opposite side of the block in front of an office supply store. She wanted to be walking away from the mayhem when her purpose had been fulfilled.

  Grabbing her gear, she headed toward the office building. She didn’t want to be on the roof, she wanted to be inside with a clear shot of the club entrance. Big dogs liked to come in through the front, be celebrated for their money and status. That’s exactly the type of man Padarn was. Flashy. And flashy was easy to kill. They were like sitting ducks.

  The building entrance wasn’t anything high class, just tile and cream walls, but it was clean. There was a company name missing on one of the suite numbers on the third floor. That would do just fine. She rode the elevator up, pulled out her lock pick set, and went to work on the office door, pulling the blinds closed once she was in.

  There was a desk in the corner of the small reception area and a couple of papers laying on the floor. The mildew in the air was strong—this office hadn’t been rented out in a while. She headed straight to the inner-office room that looked out to Club Alegria. The window would be perfect. There was about a twenty-degree angle from the office window to the club’s front door.

  Pulling out the barrel, she assembled the Knight M110 rifle. Samson had taught her the basics of putting a weapon together long ago, and new or old model, they still applied. She’d been familiar with guns before they’d met. But he’d been the one to show her the tricks of being a sniper and had helped her improve her marksmanship. Samson had trained during his stint in the army and had earned his expert status with ease. Able was the only person she knew that rivaled his skills.

  She folded her legs and laid the long-range, precision, rapid-fire rifle across them. There was nothing in the room for her to sit on or brace herself against. The desk from the other room was too tall. She opened the window enough for the barrel of the rifle to fit through and knelt to sight in the scope. The crosshairs lined up perfectly with the front of the club.

  She’d been here for an hour and only delivery trucks and low levels milled about on patrol. Come on, come on, come on. Patience was a skill she could usually employ whenever she wanted. Today, she wanted to rid the world of Padarn Gonzales as soon as possible.

  This place was too quiet for her. There was nothing to listen to, nothing to keep her mind from wandering. And there was nothing good she wanted to delve further into right now.

  She was lying to her team.

  She was lying to Samson.

  She might even be lying to herself.

  Probably worst of all, she didn’t dislike what had happen
ed between her and Samson last night. Which worried her on many levels. You know, if she were to think about it. Had Samson drunk the amnesia Kool-Aid? Had she? Everything had happened so fast when she was in his arms, and never once had she considered stopping the progression of his hot kisses on her skin.

  She could practically feel his lips on her neck right now. She closed her eyes for a second. This wasn’t real. And it wasn’t going to happen again. She had to make sure to keep her distance.

  Doors opened and closed in the main hall behind her. Then another in the suite next door. She pulled the barrel out of the window and propped the gun against the wall. There was something to the noise, like a systematic checking. She left the inner-office and stood behind the main door to the suite. Using her words was usually her first line of defense, but she didn’t have the patience today. She took her baton and whipped it, extending it with a click. Whoever was coming through that door was going to be walking out with at least a limp.

  The door opened slowly, and she didn’t waste a second. She belted the intruder on the side with her baton while using her other hand to slam the door.

  “Argh.” He bent over and grabbed her at her at the thighs and rushed her to the ground. She fell back, holding on to his waist so she didn’t hit as hard. She used the momentum of the fall to wiggle out of his grasp and wrap her legs around his neck. She squeezed her thighs together with all her might.

  “Claire,” Samson gritted out.

  Fuck. It wasn’t good he’d tracked her down, and for a hot second she thought about following through and rendering him unconscious.

  “Stop.” He reached out, his hands pulling at her legs to release him.

  She eased her hold and let her head fall back to the floor. “What are you doing here?” she asked between breaths.

  “Stopping you.” He untangled himself and laid on his back next to her, his own breath labored.

  Why was he always getting in her way? “When in the hell did you get so high and mighty?” She rubbed her temples. Fighting was not good for this incessant headache of hers. “That bastard deserves to die.” They all did for their lack of humanity and compassion.

  He crooked his head to look behind them. Probably spotting his rifle. “Since when do you kill first?”

  “It’s the new me. New and reformed.” And sick of dealing with people’s shit. If she was going to help people, she was going to do it any way she knew how. Her methods shouldn’t be questioned.

  “We’re the good guys now, remember?” He tapped her thigh twice.

  “No, Samson. I don’t remember.” She sat up faster than she should have. Dizziness kept her from standing right away.

  “I think you need to get checked out.” He was up and by her side instantly.

  “I probably need water or something.”

  “You were in a coma two days ago.” He gently placed his palms on the sides of her head and she closed her eyes. The pressure, his touch … fuck.

  “I’m not going to a doctor and I know you already know that.”

  “Tomorrow. If your headache isn’t gone by tomorrow, you’re going in.”

  “You leave now and let me do this. Or, hell, help me, I’ll go to a doctor, no problem.”

  He dropped his hands from her skin.

  “How’d you find me?” she asked.

  “Sabene.” He searched her stare and she couldn’t figure out if he confirmed what he was looking for. He swiveled around, stuck his hands in his pockets, and ambled to the window. He checked out the view and the side of his jaw jumped. “She can do more damage behind a keyboard than we could do in a lifetime in front of it. Also, she tracked your cell.” He glanced over as she joined him. “Tell me about this half-cocked plan of yours.”

  “Step one: get a gun. Thank you for that, by the way. Step two: kill Padarn and as many of his men as possible.”

  “That was the whole of it?” he asked. He picked up his rifle, pulled the bolt back to eject the shot, then started disassembling it, beginning with the stock.

  “There’s an art to simplicity.”

  “There’s also stupidity. You don’t think they have cameras all over, that they’d send men around to pick up anyone looking suspicious? Not to mention the cops.”

  “There are two cameras mounted in front of the building that scan, but they focus on the streets, not the surrounding buildings. The two amateur guards walking around the block are either too busy flirting with their phones to be effective or haven’t been trained because they haven’t raised their heads to take in the environment once. And, there are no cameras in this building or where I parked, and no one saw me in the hall. I can handle myself.”

  He knelt to pack the gun parts away and zipped up the back pack and her dreams of killing the man responsible for Grace’s death with it.

  “You’re really not grasping the concept of a team.”

  “Our team has really dropped the ball on this one.”

  “We don’t have records here, and I’d like to keep it that way.” He focused on his gun. “When you get careless, you get caught.”

  “Speak for yourself.” She took a breath. This wasn’t getting them anywhere and was only raising her blood pressure. “Maybe I don’t care about staying.”

  His head whipped her way, his brows pulled together. “I know you do.”

  And why the fuck do you care so much?

  “The team handles things a different way now,” he continued. “We work together in these situations. Tackle it using our strengths so nothing goes wrong and we don’t get hurt.”

  “You’re here. This is a team outing now. Let’s put the rifle back together and kill him. Tonight.” She cocked a hip and slapped her hand to it. Her heartrate started to increase as any control she may have had in this situation began slipping away.

  “It doesn’t work like that. We don’t even know if he’s responsible.”

  “Holy shit,” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “Are you, Samson Patrick, telling me that killing first and asking questions later isn’t the answer?”

  “Claire,” he warned.

  “I want to know. Because the Samson I remember was relentless and ruthless and wouldn’t have let this murder go unanswered.” Her voice rose.

  “This isn’t about me and you know it.” His stare hardened. “And so what if I want to fucking think about a job and plan it out better than before. Most people would think that’s wise. I don’t exactly remember you being all dive-in-head-first before.”

  “Well, now we’re on equal ground because you don’t remember much of anything when it comes to you and I.” She ran a hand through her hair.

  “I remember a whole lot fucking more than you do.”

  “And isn’t that convenient. I’m just supposed to believe your story? Well, let me tell you, I don’t for a second.” He’d really missed the entire point of her leaving. Hell, she didn’t know if she even knew at this point. The reason didn’t matter; their actions had spoken volumes.

  There was something to the way he pulled back, a fear that passed through his glare. “Let’s call this what it is.” He crossed his arms inches away from her. “We both know why you’ve latched on to this case not once but twice.”

  “Because I help people now.” She was sick and tired of that phrase, as if it were supposed to be a burden and prohibit action. If anything, it should free them to use even more of their skills. She—they—were helping someone, just a dammed day late.

  “This girl was not your sister.”

  “Watch yourself.” Her entire body tensed. She was not in a mood to talk about this.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” His head swayed back and forth, but his words were firm. Unforgiving. “You were young, and people make their own choices.”

  “Samson.” Her warning was quiet, and he would heed it if he knew what was good for him. She felt like fighting and she didn’t care with whom.

  “Your parents couldn’t handle that, a
nd that’s on them, too.”

  “Don’t.” Her parents hadn’t given two shits about her when they’d killed themselves the first weekend she’d gone to college because they never got over Allison’s death.

  “Nothing you do here will change the past. Your sister’s dead.”

  She slapped him across his cheek with her open palm.

  His hands took hold of her upper arms in an instant and he walked her back until she was trapped between him and the wall.

  “Do that again.” His voice was low and daring.

  “Let go of me and I will.”

  His breath was quick and hot on her cheek. Their bodies were pressed together, his ridges and plains hard against her thighs and chest. She closed the small gap between their mouths and pressed her lips to his like she was sinking and he was her raft.

  She pulled her arms out of his grasp and flattened her palms on his chest and pushed. He took two steps back, his eyelids low with desire. She stepped toward him, swept her leg behind his feet, and tripped him to the ground.

  She straddled him, pinning him to floor. His hips flexed up to push his erection into her apex. Her juices pooled, waiting to welcome him inside of her. She dropped her body onto his, running her palms up his arms until she had his hands restrained above his head. She wanted to touch all of him—to scrape her fingers down every inch and lick every sensitive spot on him.

  Their kisses were fevered. She didn’t care about right or wrong—she just cared about kissing him, touching him, and connecting with him again on an intimate level.

  She leaned into him with her weight, kissing him hard. Their tongues mixed together until she pulled back to sit up, grabbing the hem of her black turtleneck and pulling it over her head. He reached for her, running his hands up the sides of her waist, cupping her breasts and massaging. He unclasped her bra from the front and she let it sink off her shoulders and down to the ground beside them.