by Celia Loren
Everything he says hurts. The way he looks at me hurts.
“I don’t want to fight with you Dominic,” I groan. “Please, let’s talk about this later. I’ve never been this tired in my whole life. I just want to sleep.”
“This isn’t going to be some clean corporate lawsuit,” he says, relentless. “Do I need to remind you what you saw at the Depraved Club, before my boys got there? This guy you’re taking on ran the place. The people that pay him run a thousand other places just like it. They’re cold as ice and lethal as their pet cobras. Human life is nothing to them—just a tab in their profit margins. You call me a murderer, but I’m nothing compared to the people that you’ll be exposing yourself to.”
The subtext of what he’s just said sinks in, giving me a breath of hope. “Are you actually worried about me?”
His face sets stubbornly. “I’m watching you,” he growls defensively. “You need to take this seriously, ok? I need you to understand what’s at stake. This is life or death. Don’t think you can play them, or play me. You won’t get away with it this time.”
“What?” I blink, stunned. “I’ve never played you in my life Dominic Throne, and I’ve never been more serious than right now. If it’s all so dangerous then it sounds like we’ve really got to work together here. We’re going to have to find a way to be ok with that, maybe even trust each other. We’ve got enough enemies on the outside without us tearing each other down all the time.”
“You’re in my world now,” he grunts. “There’s no mercy for stupid. You fuck this up or double-cross me, we could both end up dead. So don’t fuck up.”
My eyes fill with irritated tears. “I could never double-cross you Dominic. Fucking up is another story, I can’t say I’d never fuck up because that’s not something anyone can ever promise, but I’d never betray you.”
“Funny. Seems to me you already have.”
I realize he is talking about the past: that summer, my brother’s beating and death threat, leaving without a goodbye. My heart aches, as if my chest is suddenly the wrong size to contain all the regrets and fears inside. This is dangerous ground, and the stir of old feelings is paralyzing. He’s standing so painfully close, and yet he’s so goddamn unreachable.
Careful, Harper…tread softly…
Obviously, he hates me. And that is obviously irreversible in his book.
Now I can’t stop the tears from tumbling down my cheeks.
“Dominic, I already told you, my brother was going to kill you! Please believe me, I thought it was the only way to stop him, to protect you from him, to save your fucking life. I never wanted to leave you. Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. God, how could you not know that I loved you? I loved you so much I was willing to ruin my own life and give up my own happiness and walk away if that’s what it took to keep you safe. That’s all I could think about in that moment—keeping you alive, out there somewhere—even if I never got see you again, I just needed to know you were ok. Don’t you know I’ve thought about it every day since then, wondering if there had been another way? Why can’t you understand that?”
It’s not until I pause for breath that I realize the enormity of what I’ve just said. It’s the first time I’ve ever told him—or anyone—that I loved him. The words hang in the air like a scent. He stares down at me for what feels like an eternity, until the roar of a motorcycle engine nearby tears through the fragile moment.
“That’ll be Grindhouse,” Dominic says, abruptly stepping away and pulling my hand like a leash. “Let’s go get you your precious sleep.”
Chapter Nine
Harper
The next few weeks are a blur of paperwork, phone calls, meetings, and research as I dive headfirst into hardball lawyer mode. It makes it easier not to think or feel about personal things, as does the fact that I haven’t actually talked to Dominic about anything other than The Tunders, Colt, and the Depraved Club since I started working on the case. Which is probably a good thing. Now I can bury myself in my comfort zone: work.
Though Dominic’s been true to our agreement and has let me use my real office half the time, I’ve mostly camped out in a small meeting room at the Sons of Lucifer Clubhouse. It’s like being inside a medieval fortress, except instead of armor everyone’s wearing leather and it smells like tequila all the time. Also, people are usually having sex in the hallway or in the main bar area. But hey, that probably happened in medieval fortresses too.
Dominic says it’s safer for me to work out of the clubhouse, but I know it’s probably all really just to keep an eye on me. The Sons of Lucifer are sticking to me like white on rice, which is ok, because it means that no one really messes with me. I have bodyguards all the time. And when I do have to go in to the office, I have my own personal outlaw motorcade.
Dominic’s also made sure I have a guard even inside the clubhouse, usually a familiar biker like Dirtbeard or Charlie Foxtrot. They sit morosely in the corner with a newspaper or stream TV shows on their smart-phones or sometimes accidentally doze off while I wade through the crazy frantic discovery phase. I know they hate babysitting me, and they know I hate the way the place smells. We’ve reached a mutual agreement to just not talk about it, and so my working hours pass by in a productive silence. Then I’m escorted to a cell-like room with a bunk bed and locked in with River and another guard for the night. It’s not exactly homey, but the case is so time-consuming I’ve barely noticed.
My first presentation before the grand jury is in two days, and I want to make sure I have all my ducks in a row to prove we have a legitimate case to indict Colt for a full trial. Dirtbeard is guarding me in the windowless back office, which was probably supposed to be a closet. His nose and dirty beard are obscured by an issue of Consumer Report, and today we didn’t even bother to say hi to each other: a nod sufficed.
I’m seated at the desk in a wobbly swivel-chair, cross-referencing River’s deposition and some subpoenaed tax documents of the domestic division of Leviathan Corporation, connecting the dots between Colt’s criminal activity and his cash-flow, when there’s a soft rap on the door. It’s the right combination of taps: the signal from Dominic.
Dirtbeard lets the boss in and leaves us alone together. Dominic has to duck his head a little to get through the doorframe, and the realization smacks me for the umpteenth time that he is one tall, dark and handsome hunk of testosterone. But since that is not what I am allowing myself to think about today, I quickly avert my eyes to the exciting, sexy, thrilling tax documents I’m studying.
Fuck my life.
Dominic has other plans for my attention, though. Once inside the tiny office, he shuts the door behind him, folds his arms and stares down at me like a distant, displeased god. And then he waits. Staring at me. Staring at me hard.
I can feel his eyes boring through me, traveling over every part of my body, and in response a flood of heat rushes into my cheeks. His gaze is like a caress, heavy and tangible. I can feel it through my clothes, and instinctively curl my shoulders for protection against the strange sensations he’s causing.
“Well?” Dominic grunts.
Finally I look up, determined not to let him fluster me. “Well what?”
His jaw clenches. “Well, how’s it going today?”
I lean back in my chair, lace my fingers together, staring up at him from behind my desk like a stern school principle. “Oh, you know, typical Wednesday for me really; still a hostage of a biker gang that is, ironically, trying to take down an international crime syndicate. I haven’t seen the sun in forty-eight hours and could really use either another change of clothes or a long stint in the witness protection program, whatever is easier for you to get me. No pressure. Run-of-the-mill stuff. I’d comment on the weather we’re having, but I don’t know what the hell it’s like because, again, still a hostage. Typical Wednesday.”
He stares at me evenly, unmoved. “With such a razor wit, I’m sure you were the top of your class and the most popular girl, b
ut you know damn well I wasn’t going for small talk. I mean have you got an update on the case for me, or do I need to withhold your bread and water ration and have you flogged in the dungeon until you behave yourself?”
I lean forward. “You totally have a dungeon, don’t you? You’re sick.”
His eyebrows lift higher. “Wanna find out about my dungeon, or wanna give me an update?”
“An update?” I ask. “An update. Hmm. Oh, an update, you mean, like a game-changing, paradigm-shifting breakthrough that could be accomplished by the greatest lawyer in the country, and only the greatest lawyer in the country, and none other than the greatest lawyer in the country? That kind of update?”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake Harper, I surrender. You win the banter portion of the evening. So what’s up with the case? You got anything new today or not?”
In spite of his frosty tone, I beam up at him. “You’re not gonna believe this, Dominic,” I gush, unable to help myself. “But it doesn’t matter if you do or don’t, because belief doesn’t actually change reality does it? So believe it or don’t believe it, but the fact remains that my gangly, socially awkward assistant Rodney actually may have outsmarted Leviathan Corporation. And I am proud as peaches.”
“Come again?”
I take a deep, excited breath. “We were able to hustle through a subpoena for the financial records of a sketchy, buried division of Leviathan Corporation labeled New Ventures, and get this: I can link the exact amounts and exact dates of seven months of payments directly to Colt’s ‘holding’ company, which was his front for the Depraved Club. And I can prove that some of that money was incentive for his attack on The Thunders and your half-way house.”
“Which is good?”
“For us? Amazing. For them? Not so much. Oooh—we also have a memo from Leviathan Corp’s Executive Vice President on November 9th, ordering a preemptive crippling of competition of local business The Thunders. On top of that, we’ve got the evidence found in Colt’s home, which included cash exactly equaling the most recent payment from Leviathan Corp in crisp new bills.”
Dominic is staring at me blankly. “So, in regular-person, non-confusing language, what does that mean?”
“I’ve got ‘em by the balls.”
Dominic winces. “Not an image I needed to think about.”
Ignoring him, I run my fingers over the papers in front of me for emphasis. “This is definitive proof that Colt was on Leviathan Corp’s payroll, and that Leviathan Corp was behind the strike on your place. God, these bastards were so cocky they barely even tried to cover their own paper trail and the language is clear enough to incriminate them in conspiracy, murder, and destruction of property. Not just Colt—but several prominent, high-ranking Leviathan Corp officials. Once Colt’s lawyer sees what I am seeing—and he is probably looking at it right now—they’re gonna scramble to settle out of court.”
Dominic nods comprehendingly. “Guess they wouldn’t want this stuff paraded around a courtroom, leaked to the media.”
“Exactly. If we take this before a grand jury, which I think we should, then it’s not just Humpty Dumpty that’s tumbling down if you know what I mean.”
Dominic’s eyes flicker with something like hope, or doubt. “You mean you think this evidence could actually take down the whole Depraved Club wing of Leviathan Corp?”
My smile grows. “If we go to trial and manage to keep your character spotless? Yes. So I need you to tell me, as my client, what you want to do: consider an offer to settle out of court, or move forward with the grand jury?”
“So I’m choosing between money or justice.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“Has Colt’s lawyer actually made an offer?”
“Not yet.” As if on cue, my work blackberry buzzes. I glance at it, then smile more broadly. “Colt’s lawyer. Huh. Wonder what this could possibly be about?” I flash Dominic a smile as I reach for the phone. “Hello Michaela,” I chirp into the receiver, “How are you this fine day? Oh just peachy, thanks. Yes, nose to the grindstone as always. What can I do for you?”
As I listen to my colleague making the juiciest offer I’ve ever heard, I intentionally let my smile fade until my face is serious and drop my voice to a husky timbre. “Really, is that so?” It’s hard not to laugh as the storm clouds gather in Dominic’s eyes at my changed expression. “I see.”
“What is it?” he hisses, eyes bulging.
“Shh!” I wave him off and swivel my chair away, pretending to be absorbed in my phone call. “Please continue, Michaela. I’m listening.”
Dominic chases me around the desk, crouching down to my level and gesturing urgently. “Is it good or bad?”
I cover the receiver with my fingers to whisper-scold Dominic. “Shh! Honestly! How about you wait a hot second and let me find out?” Uncovering the receiver, I slip back into my best professional negotiating voice and laugh. “Michaela, I fully understand your perspective and how arbitration would benefit your client, but I’m not sure that my client is equally motivated to avoid court.”
Cocking an eyebrow at Dominic in question, I receive only a shrug to go on. Rolling my eyes, I decide to bide my time, and let Michaela babble frantically for a moment.
“I’m not sure it’s an issue of the amount of the settlement money, Michaela,” I say with feigned reluctance. “And I’m not sure whether my client will consider any sum of money a just transaction for the loss of life, property, and safety as a result of the crimes committed by your client. But tell you what: give me twenty-four hours to discuss your offer with my client, and we’ll be in touch. Okay. Goodbye.”
By the time I hang up, Dominic’s eyes are bulging like a kid’s. He’s leaning over me, his arms framing me and resting on the desk, and his body is like a panther’s poised to strike. Even his voice sounds like a lethal purr. “What did she say?”
Carefully schooling my face to remain stony, I shake my head and look up at him. “She made a serious, serious…”
He blanches. “…Serious…?”
“Offer!” Now I can’t hide my smile anymore and leap out of the chair, crushing him in an impulsive hug without even thinking. “Dominic, they’re terrified! Michaela Willoughby of Willoughby, Laughton and Green never makes offers. And she just offered us three hundred million dollars to settle outside of trial.”
Dominic blinks. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah.”
“Three hundred million?” he repeats, stunned. “Not just three million? You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Three hundred million dollars, offered to me? As in, I could take that money. That money would be mine—the Sons’, too, obviously, but mine.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Dominic’s pacing, working up to a boil. “Or I could not take the money, go to court, and bury Colt and damage the entire Depraved Club permanently? My choice?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So…this is a fucking good thing. This is a fucking big break. This is fucking...”
“Yeah!”
Now, I’ve had big victories before, and we’re a long way from done, but this tops any settlement or any case I’ve ever worked on before and I can no longer contain my glee. I’m actually jumping up and down against Dominic like a hyper cheerleader.
“Dominic, this is it. We’re standing right on the edge of what could be the most powerful, important moment in our lives. Whatever we do next will have epic repercussions, but whatever we do, we’re going to win.”
After two seconds of shock, Dominic’s body springs awake. His hands catch around my waist and suddenly he’s lifted me in the air, spinning in a circle, and we’re both whooping and laughing like morons. When I land back on earth, we’re both breathless and his hands linger on my waist. The seconds tick by as our laughing gradually calms to a happy, taut silence, but my pulse just doesn’t seem to want to return to normal.
>
“So,” I stammer, trying to pull back and regain control of the moment. “What do you think you want to do? I’ll have to respond to Michaela’s offer either way. To settle, or not to settle?”
Dominic is staring down at me, his eyes intense, but a smile plays over his lips. “Let me think about it,” he murmurs. “But first, we have to celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
His grin widens. “Yeah. You’ve been a good girl and I think you’ve earned a little something special.”
My face flushes again, and this time adrenaline spikes through my veins. “What do you mean?”
“Come on,” Dominic grunts. “I’ll show you.”
My heart is racing as he leads me by the hand through the hallway, past a few layers of guards, and out into the Sons of Lucifer’s gated parking lot. We’re on his motorcycle with my arms around his waist in no time, a posture and proximity that I’ve grown strangely used to. The city lights are flashing by, and while part of me is nervous as fuck, most of me is just really fucking thrilled to be outside, to be moving.
And most of all, to be with Dominic.
Fuck.
Yes. I can’t exactly ignore the thought this time. Ever since he’s exploded back into my life, it’s grown harder and harder to push away the tempting thoughts, the secret longing, the irrational excitement and prick of awareness when he’s nearby. It’s not that my old feelings for him are coming back; it’s more like every second, another chunk of the walls I’ve built crumble down. The feelings aren’t coming back because they never really went away, never really died. Just…hid. Buried.
But now, his presence has resurrected me, and I can’t make any sense of the tangled impulses and fears and needs whispering in the corner of my heart.
Fuck. I’m fucked.
I remind myself that I’m his prisoner, his lawyer. Sure, at the moment he’s toting me around on his motorcycle to reward me with something, but that doesn’t change the fact that he hates me, or that he’s a criminal, or that I have to get myself the hell out of this situation.
