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

by Dana Volney

  “What business were you doing at the port?” Padarn crossed his ankle over his knee, his black socks covering his shin.

  “Moving merchandise for clients.” She opened her purse and removed a business card Sabene had made her earlier. “Importer, exporter.”

  He leaned forward and took the card from between her fingers.

  “How serendipitous. I might be in the market for a new contact. Of course, you’re already in the hole with ensuring the safety of cargo.”

  “Your cargo wasn’t under my protection.” She smiled. “Formally.”

  “I was told the docks were secure. You have an informant in the local PD?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Okay, okay. I get it.”

  “I don’t know you that well. As a sign of goodwill, I will give you your girls back.” When hell freezes over.

  Padarn nodded, unable to hide his smile. This was a prime example of why drugs weren’t great: they made you think you were cooler and more sly than you actually were.

  “I’m going to need something from you in return.” She just needed to buy time and get another meeting with him at a time when the uncle could see them together. “I have associates on the West Coast. I believe you have connections out there?”

  “I do.”

  “I am in need of a new supplier for a certain substance I import for local clients.” She downed the rest of the booze in her glass and leaned forward. “Do you want to form a partnership, Padarn?”

  “What about the ports?”

  “I’ve taken care of it.”

  “A woman who thinks of everything.”

  It was time to get out of here. “That’s what my clients expect.” She stood and Padarn opened the door for her. “You have a very nice club.”

  “You’re welcome anytime.”

  “Let’s see this big finish.” Sabene slurped the last of her drink. “I’m by the bar so face me.”

  They started down the stairs and Claire walked a tad sideways to keep her shoulder next to Padarn’s.

  “I’ll have your girls delivered.” She leaned in to cut the gap between them for the camera lens while she ran her fingers down Padarn’s shiny white shirt. “I’ll be in touch with the time.”

  He smiled, and she tilted her head to make sure the picture would show admiration—wide eyes, slight grin so that the apples of her cheeks were full—as they descended the staircase in the line of sight of the bar.

  “That’s the good stuff.” Sabene was hopefully getting all she needed to make Uncle Diego think twice about his nephew’s loyalty.

  “It was nice to meet you, Claire.”

  “I look forward to more.” She made sure to swing her hips a little extra to give Padarn something to think about besides the deal he just made with the devil.

  “I’m out front.” Samson was in her ear again.

  Samson. Right. She was going to have to deal with him now.

  “He and his sexist pigs. Disgusting,” Claire murmured as she got into the car. Padarn’s minions definitely took after him, especially with the comments they’d made that night in the alley when they’d gotten the drop on her.

  She fidgeted with her nails on the way home as she shed the Padarn problem for her Samson one. This was wrong. All wrong. She glanced at Samson, who hadn’t said a word yet. He just took her hand, laced their fingers, and set it on his thigh.

  The lies were getting harder. She wanted to look at him and be open, be real. Not guarded.

  He opened his front door and she started to take a step, but instead he hooked his arm around her and pulled her through the threshold, pushing her against the wall, his erection pressing into her belly. She grasped at him as he reached over and slammed the door.

  This intensity, his intensity and passion, had been missing from her life and she craved it, him, so much she thought she might cry. This new world of theirs was holding on by a thread.

  He unzipped his pants and she pulled up the bottom of her dress. She wanted him badly. Constantly. Completely.

  Her body hummed; every movement of his fingers, lips, and hips lit her up. He moved her panties to the side with one hook of his finger, and oh God, the anticipation was searing all the right places. She was going to come before he was even inside her. This was going to be a quickie and the promise made her feel sexy—that he could want her so much and already be completely aroused.

  She wrapped her leg around his as he ducked his hips to slide his cock into her.

  God, yes. He pinned her to the wall with his fucking dick. Again and again. Quick and wanting.

  He palmed her breast, massaging and pinching her nipple through her lace bra.

  She moaned and he covered it with his kiss. Their mouths were open, their tongues wild. She ran her palms up his chest, grasping at anything and everything, finally wrapping her fingers around his sturdy shoulders. She hugged them together. She didn’t want there to be anything between them.

  She clasped her leg harder over his as he crashed against her again and again.

  She loved living in the moment with him. He was so passionate. Loving. Protective. She’d never felt anything like it before and couldn’t imagine having to live without him.

  Their hips moved in perfect unison, sending her over the edge.

  He grunted and she covered his mouth with hers and then bit into his bottom lip.

  She held on to him and shuddered. He bucked into her again and his body tensed with his own release.

  She rested her head on the wall, trying to catch her breath. She had to tell him the truth. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his face even with hers. She leaned in, pressing their lips together for a sweet, post-coital kiss. His lids were heavy with satisfaction and a grin graced his lips.

  No. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t willing to put them in a position where they’d never have this again, where they’d never be one again. To her very core, she knew this was it for them—they either worked this time or never would. She was going to take the gamble to see if a carefully orchestrated memory reboot would work. She didn’t want their relationship to go back to the way it was before her head injury.

  * * *

  Samson pulled his jeans back up as she straightened her tight dress that accentuated her gorgeous ass.

  She smiled. “I forgot how amazing you are at fucking.” She brushed her auburn curls behind her ear and nipped at his bottom lip as she moved past him.

  “What did you say?” He breathed the words more than spoke them. Ice ran down through his veins and made his toes curl. She’d forgot? He stared at her. What was that supposed to mean? She wasn’t laughing, it hadn’t been a joke.

  “Should we order in?” she asked.

  “Not hungry.” He ran the events of the last few days in his head. Were there other signs she was regaining more of her memory? Last night she’d said she wasn’t sure. Was her choice of wording innocent? Was he conjuring nothing into something to sabotage them because they were getting too close and he was worried for his sanity if she broke his heart again?

  “Since when does being on a job take away your appetite?” She sat on the couch and took off her high heels to massage her foot. Fuck, he loved her feet.

  He paced in the living room. Everything had gone to plan. Her plan. She’d never let up on wanting to save those kidnapped girls. Not once.

  Hol-ly fuck.

  All of this was her plan from the start.

  “What’s going on?” Her brows wrinkled with that fucking innocent stare she had down pat.

  She’d said odd things a couple of times, had a certain air about her at least once, and then there was that unidentified feeling that had nagged at him since the hospital but he couldn’t put a finger on it because he’d believed her. He’d wanted to believe her.

  He smiled, but there was no humor in his body to go with it. “You’re good.” He nodded and his anger heated his core. “But you’ve always been good at conning and lying when yo
u’re determined.”

  The truth was in her eyes now—he could see through the fake virtue she was trying to conjure.

  “What is it, lover?” She stood and reached for him, but he rolled his shoulder back and stepped out of her path.

  “Don’t,” he snapped. “Do me the favor of at least not treating me like a total idiot.” He shook his head, talking to the ground and pacing the length of the living room. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it. This whole fucking time.”

  “Samson, it’s not what you think.”

  His gut clenched. “It never is with you.” He wasn’t going to like what she was about to say. He’d seen this energy before from her. “I’m not even sure I want to know.” He couldn’t even look at her. All she ever was to him was heartache. When was he going to learn?

  “Shit.” She let out a loud sigh. “This, um, this isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

  “Was there some type of ad you were going to take out in the paper and then organize a parade in honor of how you could look your team in the eye and fucking lie to them? To me?” His voice boomed even to his own ears as he jabbed his index finger into his chest. He took a deep breath to settle himself down. It didn’t work.

  His heart still beat quickly and his fight or flight response was coursing through his veins. And right now he wanted to do both. Except he shouldn’t be getting worked up. Everything had been one giant, fucking lie. Nothing since the hospital had been real.

  “It all started to snowball, and the next thing I knew … ” Her words trailed off as she waved her palm toward the wall he’d just fucked her against.

  Fucked her for the last time.

  “You are some piece of work, you know that?” He put his hands to his hips. It was that or punch the wall, then the window, then probably drive his truck off a cliff somewhere because he didn’t see that she’d been playing him for a fool this entire time. How the hell had he become that complacent and easy to play? He should’ve seen through her deception—he always had before.

  “None of this would’ve happened if you just would’ve listened.” Her tight words pierced with a familiar sting.

  Fuck. That. “Listen? To what?” He’d been down this road with her before—she was never going to see how she was in the wrong, and they were just going to argue in circles and then not see each other for two years.

  “You were being pig-headed.” Flames practically flared in her green stare. “You wouldn’t listen and wanted to shut down the op. We were those victims’ only hope. And you knew it and still wouldn’t pursue.”

  “You were in a coma, for fuck’s sake. Or was that all an act, too?” he scoffed. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. “Able wasn’t here, Milo was still gone, and you were hurt.” Why the shit he was explaining himself to her he had no idea. It should be the other way around.

  “You can’t act like it’s the worst thing in the world to be on a stake-out with me one minute and then some overprotective boyfriend the next. We were teammates and you wouldn’t listen. You kept dismissing me, so, yeah, I took matters into my own hands. Something you were refusing to do.”

  His head craned back like she’d just slapped him. A slap would’ve been less painful.

  It kind of felt like the old days. When she hated him.

  “We’re a team with a mission, and that comes first,” she continued.

  “I’m well aware of what we are and aren’t.” He let his hard stare and words sink in—misery flitted across her eyes. For why he had no clue. It’s not like she gave a shit about him. “I won’t make the mistake of looking out for you again.”

  “I don’t need you to look out for me.” She rubbed her temples as she stood in the middle of his living room in her slinky red dress that, just minutes ago, he’d almost ripped off of her.

  “So all of this amnesia bullshit was so that we’d go help the sex slaves?”

  She’d toyed with his every emotion to get what she wanted. The life he had started, for a second time, to believe in —he and Claire together, working out their problems instead of running—was blowing up before his face.

  “You know how I get about that topic.” Her voice was soft.

  He knew the pain, he understood the toll the sex trade had taken on her family. On her. Those types of wounds didn’t heal. They only lessened after time. It hurt that she didn’t know he understood, that she thought he hadn’t cared.

  “First of all, fuck you for all of this. This amnesia bullshit was a stupid thing to pull. Second, and nearly my biggest problem with this entire shit show besides you manipulating the hell out of me, I never intended to cut the op completely. I wasn’t going to leave those girls out in the cold if we found something to go on that showed they were in danger.”

  He couldn’t tell if he was getting through to her or not. She was listening to him, but was she hearing what he said?

  “You didn’t even want to look anymore. You’d pulled the plug.” She was swaying her head side to side like that might convince him he wasn’t going to keep looking. He was sick of her head games.

  “While you healed, yeah. I do know how crazy you get about that topic, and I wanted you to be a little healthier before you went all psycho at catching the head of the sex ring. You have to be at your best when you go after people like them. And you weren’t.”

  “I was.” She cocked a hip and slapped her palm over the tattoo that was under that dress.

  “Obviously you weren’t.” He didn’t have the energy to fight with her anymore, let alone be in the same room with her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She sounded sincere, but he couldn’t believe her now. He couldn’t believe anything about her anymore.

  “This little fantasy, or whatever the fuck we’ve been living in, is over.”

  It was never real. Too bad he hadn’t known that before he’d let himself fall back in love with her. He rubbed his palm down his face. He’d been a fool again.

  She’d lied to him, with her two-faced eyes and soft touches. He wasn’t even sure she knew how to tell the whole truth. Hell, when it came to Claire he wasn’t sure where he stood. But he sure as shit knew where she stood with him now.

  Nowhere.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. There’d probably never be enough sorrys she could say in her lifetime.

  She’d put that agony on his face. There was nothing she could ever do that would make up for breaking his heart, for breaking her own. She wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t anymore. She’d been so good, she’d gotten wrapped up in her own con.

  “I should go home.” She couldn’t look him in the eyes.

  There wasn’t an ounce of blood in her that wanted to leave, but it was the right thing to do. Samson wasn’t looking at her the same way; there was no joy when his stare met hers.

  He didn’t say a word, just headed for the kitchen.

  She felt the familiar pinch of tears. This time it was real, no crocodile tears in the bunch. But she couldn’t let him see the hurt, that she was in pain, too. It might be better for both of them if she let him believe that it had all been a con and that all of it was faked. Every touch, every kiss, and every orgasm.

  She’d know the truth. She knew in her gut that she wanted him, that they could’ve worked out this time. Yet the only chance of them giving their relationship a second go had just been ruined by her need to stop a sex slave ring. Go figure.

  “I’m going to go get my things,” she said to the empty living room.

  There wasn’t much of hers at Samson’s. Yet it felt like home. It had been home. Twice now. She threw her clothes into her bag, stuffing down the fabrics. The quilt on the bed they shared caught her eye—it was old and soft and was perfect for waking up in Samson’s arms. She was never going to pull the covers up over her shoulders on a cold morning or huddle beneath them while she and Samson shared their hopes and dreams. Hell, she was never going to be in this room again.

&n
bsp; She was only halfway down the stairs when Samson yelled up, “I called you an Uber.”

  Her insides hollowed out even more. She knew she had to leave. But that didn’t mean she wanted to. This wasn’t some angle she was playing. There was no end game here. He wasn’t a job. This was her life. Her one and only.

  He opened the front door without so much as a glance her way. His eyes, his beautiful brown eyes, were devoid of any emotion. He was a muscled statue.

  She deserved that. She’d not treated him well.

  She turned around in the threshold. He was so close. She wouldn’t even have to try very hard to reach out and touch him, run her fingers down his hard abs and then lower.

  He opened his mouth, looked like he was going to say something, then closed it with a snap.

  Her mind buzzed and her hands tingled as finality sunk low into her chest.

  “Samson.” She took a step closer to him. He didn’t reach for her and she kept her arms to her side. They were almost strangers—totally opposite of how her day had started.

  She tilted up on the balls of her feet and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth. She stayed there for a couple of seconds in case he suddenly decided he couldn’t live without her, that he didn’t care how it started because they were supposed to be together and they could make it this time. Instead, she felt his jaw flex.

  She gazed up to him, taking in his manicured five o’clock shadow and beautiful brown eyes. She breathed in his scent. It was like a drug. She searched his gaze to find any hope, any promise of a future. A sadness fluttered across his knowing stare.

  Yeah. She understood.

  Despite their both trying, they’d messed it up again. She’d messed up.

  They just weren’t meant to be.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire set a bowl of freshly made popcorn beside Samson on the couch in the office and sat down one cushion away.

  They hadn’t made eye contact or spoken to each other once today. That fact shouldn’t be unsettling—he had no idea how often they used to make eye contact at work—but it was. He had no fucking idea where they stood as teammates. But they sure as hell weren’t close to anything else.