Zero Hour

by Megan Erickson

  Her parents were still pushing her to get married, to settle down with a nice man and have a family. At one time, she’d wanted that. Roarke had been a teen crush she’d been determined to get over. Her plan was to find a great guy on the debate team or something in college. Then shit went south and that dream went out the window. Now she didn’t even want a nice boy. She wanted a man with an edge, with tattooed fingers and a scowl. And there she went again, pining for goddamn Roarke Brennan. She wished she could want it, that she could settle down near her parents and be the good Korean daughter. But she didn’t want that and her parents were impressed enough with her successful fake career to support her and not nag about settling down. Still, she missed them so much, and if she could ever put all this behind her, she’d return to be the daughter they’d always wanted. They’d liked Roarke as Erick’s friend. They’d invited him into their home, fed him, treated him like family. But if she announced she was actually dating Roarke? Hoo boy.

  She focused back on her laptop in front of her. For the last couple of hours, she’d been trolling a secret forum for DC clubs, where posters talked about everything from where to buy drugs and sex to which bouncers allowed underage patrons—mostly girls. Her skin crawled, but with a few choice questions, she’d learned all about the rumors surrounding Alpha. Except there was one password-protected subforum she couldn’t get into. She had bided her time because she hadn’t wanted to draw attention to herself and after a while had messaged the admins, who hadn’t responded. She’d found no vulnerabilities to break into the subforum and was frustrated as hell. She suspected that was where she’d learn more about Darren’s involvement in Fiona’s situation.

  A private message flashed on her screen from user yo-man, and she clicked to read it.

  new here?

  For real? Like she had time to flirt. If he sent her a dick pic, she was going to blow up his hard drive with the worst virus she could find.

  Nah, she typed back. He could see she’d joined a couple of months ago.

  What you looking for

  That’s my business

  Ah but, my business is your business, little bird.

  She jerked her head up, glancing around the coffee shop, looking for a tattooed man with a deep scowl. And yep, there Roarke was, leaning against the wall near the door, the light from his phone illuminating his light hazel eyes.

  “Motherfucker,” she whispered to herself.

  She signed out of the forum and slammed her laptop shut. Her latte was cold now, but she took a sip anyway so she could glare at him over the cardboard rim. The only other people in the coffee shop were the barista and a teenage couple.

  He strode toward her, lips pulled down in a disapproving frown. She wondered how he didn’t attract attention wherever he went. He didn’t—he had a way of blending in—and it baffled her. She could never take her eyes off him. Even when she was irritated. Like now.

  She kept her face fixed in a glare. “Do you have a fucking tracker on me?”

  He clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring as he muttered seemingly to himself. “I normally have perfectly healthy blood pressure.”

  She had no idea what that had to do with anything. “Well, good freaking for you. That doesn’t answer why you’re following me.”

  “I’m not following you—” His words cut out with a frustrated growl. He sank down onto the couch across from her and ran his hands through his hair. The dark strands were a mess, like he’d been doing that all night. Then his eyes pierced hers. “I’ve been watching the Saltners since Flynn was hired. Nothing happens in that forum without me noticing. And I noticed you.”

  His confidence was arousing and infuriating at the same time. She could play dumb like she didn’t know what he was talking about, but that was a waste of time. “Is this where you lecture me? Tell me I gave myself away? I’d love to hear your wisdom, Mr. Brennan.”

  His lips stretched into something like a smile. “I recognize that as sarcasm.”

  “You’re astute.”

  “But I’m going to give you advice anyway.”

  “Of course you are.”

  He gave her an actual smile then, and she swore his eyes sparked with amusement, an emotion she didn’t think Roarke was capable of having, at least not in her presence. “Your character was good. You came in as an interested rich boy socialite, but your questions were a little too smart. Should have talked about yourself more. Been a bit more narcissistic.”

  She pressed her lips shut because that was good advice.

  “Your brother and Marisol are the best social engineers on the team although, I have to admit, you’re better than I thought you’d be.”

  “That’s called a backhanded compliment, Roarke.”

  He laughed, a nice sound. A rare sound. Especially after the day they’d had.

  “I thought you were at Erick’s?” she asked.

  “I was. Left after I got a notification you were active in the forum.”

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “I’d been watching the account. Didn’t make the connection until tonight.” He shrugged. “Hunch. Intuition. Whatever.”

  “Have you made it into that private room yet?”

  He shook his head. “Been working on it.”

  “I can try, too—”

  “You have a big enough job already.” His expression darkened.

  “Yeah…about that.” She cleared her throat. “I have a date.”

  He flinched, and his eyes hardened. “When?”

  “He didn’t waste time. Called me tonight. Dinner at Belview on Saturday at eight.”

  Roarke snatched her latte and took a big gulp. He grimaced as he set it down. “What the fuck is that?”

  “A chai latte that was hot about an hour ago.”

  “Tastes like Christmas and grass. And I fucking hate Christmas.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Anyway, a date on Saturday gives us a week to prepare.”

  “You don’t—”

  “If you think I’m just sending you off with that body in a tight dress and no protection, then you’re fucking dreaming.”

  There he went again with his this is how it’s gonna be tone. He was getting on her last nerve. Had he always been like that? “Fine.”

  “Fine,” he spat back.

  She rose from her seat and stomped toward the bathroom. Her heart was fluttering in her chest, a warning drumbeat of anxiety. After she did her business and washed her hands, she tried to fix her messy hair in the mirror. She agreed she needed protection, but around alpha Roarke, she could barely get a word in. Didn’t he understand she was a member of this team, too? If she was putting her neck on the line, she wanted a say in the plans.

  When she returned from the bathroom, Roarke had two cups sitting on the table between them, steam rising from the top. He gestured to the one in front of her as she sat down, his expression slightly contrite. “Got you a new shy thing.”

  “Chai.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  She picked it up, accepting it as the peace offering it was. “Thank you.” While she took a sip of the hot brew, her anger still lingered below the surface. She refused to make eye contact with him until she was sure she could keep from snapping at him.

  Finally he reached out and lightly fingered an errant strand of hair that had escaped from her messy bun. “I like the hair,” he murmured softly.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how sick she felt when Darren touched her hair, compared to how soothing Roarke’s touch was. She slowly lifted her gaze to his. “Thanks.”

  “The color is pretty.” It was obvious he didn’t compliment people much, because his voice balanced precariously along the words like they were wire thin. “And the sleeves.” He pointed to her arms. “Looks good on you.”

  She shifted her biceps, and a riot of color rippled over her skin. “I worked at a tattoo parlor for a while. You know how addictive they can be.”

  He laughed softly
. “Ink gets in the blood.” He set his coffee down in front of him and rubbed his hands together between his knees. “Look, I know I’m not adjusting well, and I’m sorry for that.”

  Shocked by his admission, she took a minute to consider how to answer. She didn’t want him to get defensive or lash out. “It’s not about that. You interrupt me whenever I’m trying to talk. This is a team, and I know you’re the leader, but hear me out sometimes. I know how to handle shit or I never would have stepped foot in Alpha.”

  He was watching her, those unusual hazel eyes thoughtful. “You’re right.”

  She wanted to cheer because he admitted it, but she played it cool. “I know I forced my way into this. But I want to help, and I’m capable. I’m not a teenager anymore.”

  He nodded, his gaze dropping, and picked up his coffee again, draining it. “Things were a little simpler when I last saw you.”

  “When my parents tried to force-feed you kimchi?”

  Roarke huffed a laugh. “Can’t eat it anywhere else. Nowhere compares to the Lee house in Erie.”

  She grinned. “You’re right about that.”

  His tattooed fingers clenched where they rested on his thigh while he held his empty coffee cup with his other hand. From her view, all she could read was ME OVER. She knew what they said though; he’d had those tattooed the day he graduated high school. “High school seems forever ago.”

  “It seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “Yeah, back when I dated dumb boys who were cheating jerks. I still can’t believe Brandon got caught looking at porn in school. What a moron.”

  Roarke avoided her eyes with an odd smirk on his face.

  She squinted at him. “What’s that look for?”

  He snorted and glanced down at his knuckles. “Nothing.”

  In high school, she would have let him fall silent. But not anymore. She slid off her chair and kneeled on the couch next to him. He stared straight ahead. With careful hands, she cupped his chin and turned his head to face her. His eyes went wide for a split second, and she thought belatedly that this was one of the few times she’d ever touched him. “Tell me why you have that look on your face.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a thought hit her. She flexed her fingers against his stubbled jaw. “Wait, did you…? Roarke, did you have something to do with that?”

  He parted his full lips and tried to duck his head, but she held on and pressed closer until his biceps nudged her breasts through her thin tank top. “Roarke—”

  “I planted ’em.” His voice was low and quiet, and for a moment, she thought he was angry. She dropped her hand from his chin as his mouth stretched into an evil grin. “Motherfucker cheated on you. Wren Lee. Hottest girl in school and too damn good for him. Brandon knew it, too, fake-ass lowlife.” Roarke shrugged. “I know it was a shit thing to do to him, but I was eighteen and pissed.”

  Her mind whirled as she tried to process this information. Roarke had defended her honor in the modern era—with hacking rather than a duel. He was not a fighter, or a talker. But he could do some serious damage with a keyboard. Her heart kicked up a faster beat in her chest as she thought about what this meant. “You did that. For me.”

  Roarke didn’t look away this time. He held her gaze. “Yeah. I did. He hurt you. That wasn’t okay with me. He had to pay for it.”

  “But I thought…” She chewed the inside of her cheek as she mulled her words. “I thought you didn’t really notice me then. Or care.”

  There was a pause, a beat of frozen time between them, during which Roarke seemed to weigh his next move. Then he surged toward her, his arms caging her in. His body loomed closer, and she had to lean back on her heels to prevent their faces from crashing. He wasn’t aloof now, not this Roarke. This one was in her face and meant business. It might have been because of the adrenaline of their mission or because he was no longer a kid. Either way, she didn’t care, because every word coming out of his mouth was a shock to her system.

  “I cared, Wren. Every day, all the time. I still fucking care. I told myself I wouldn’t…” He blew out a harsh breath, pupils dilating. “Fuck it. This is why it kills me to see you involved in this, because all I wanna do is see you safe. I cared back then when you were young, and I still care now that you’re back, all woman and hot as fuck and still so goddamn untouchable.”

  Her entire body awoke from a ten-year slumber at his words, arousal pooling in her gut, heat spreading to every limb. How long had he kept this to himself? Had he told anyone? Her mind was spinning, and she wondered if she should be angry that he’d waited this long to tell her. And how was she untouchable? He’d touched her last night. “Roarke,” she rasped.

  “How do you do this to me?” His tone held a bit of wonder. “You’re back for one day, and I’ve already spilled my secrets.”

  She inhaled sharply. “If we’re sharing confessions, then you should know I care, too. I’ve cared ever since the day you walked into my house, all pissed off and angry at the world.”

  “I should regret telling you this, but I don’t.” He swallowed, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I think my biggest regret would be walking out of here without knowing how you taste.”

  The desire for his kiss had been constant since last night. Her lips were moving before her brain gave a command. “Then find out.”

  His nose brushed hers, and she gripped his face, her fingers sliding into the thick hair at his temples. There was a brief pause as his eyes locked on hers and he was moving closer. Her tongue snaked out, wetting her lips, wanting his kiss so badly that she thought she’d combust.

  “This is a bad idea,” he whispered.

  “Good ideas are never fun,” she whispered back.

  She let her eyes fall shut as they both closed the distance.

  “Closing in five minutes, kids!” the barista called out.

  Wren’s eyes snapped open. Roarke was on his feet so fast that she pitched forward and had to catch herself with her hands in front of her. She scrambled off the couch as Roarke stood with his back to her, hands gripping his hair.

  The teenage couple in the corner were gathering their things, and the barista was chatting with them. Wren blinked, trying to come back to earth, because holy hell, she’d been in the clouds with Roarke’s big body on top of her.

  The barista turned to them, and Roarke cleared his throat. “Sorry, just leaving.”

  “No problem! I’ll close up after you.” The barista was being friendly, but she clearly wanted them to get the hell out.

  Roarke did, too, apparently. He was backing away from her toward the door. The distance grew between them, like every one of his steps was a mile long. “Didn’t realize the time.”

  Wren busied herself putting her laptop away in her bag. “Me either.”

  “Do you need a ride?”

  “I have my bike.” His reaction was pissing her off, like they were high schoolers caught dancing too close at homecoming.

  He nodded, and with a jerk of his head and a short “See you soon,” he was out the door.

  Yeah, her feelings were hurt. They’d just had a goddamn moment when real shit had been shared, and now he acted like she was fucking poisonous. What was he afraid of?

  When she strode to her bike, a movement by a nearby building caught her eye. The sound of a Mustang engine roaring to life as she reached her bike assured her that Roarke had been watching. The sentiment was nice, as was the chai latte and the unsolicited advice. But it didn’t make up for the almost-kiss and run.

  As she gunned her bike out of the parking lot, she vowed never to put herself in that position with Roarke Brennan again. No matter how much her heart wanted to. Too bad she couldn’t recode that soft thing.

  * * *

  Roarke turned the radio louder and gripped the steering wheel tighter as he sped away from the coffee shop. If he kept doing this hot and cold cycle with Wren, it would only make everything worse when this whole mission ended and they inevitably crashed and bur
ned. After Flynn died, he wasn’t sure he’d be okay. At all. Every loss in Roarke’s life took a chunk out of him that didn’t regrow. Right now, he was fueled by revenge, but when this was over and all he had was his memories of Flynn and the faded recollections of his parents…Well, he wasn’t sure what kind of man he’d be. He wouldn’t be the kind of guy who had any business being with Wren. How could he give her the love she deserved when he wasn’t sure he had any of those…loving parts of him left?

  He knew this wasn’t fair, but part of him was angry at Wren. Why hadn’t she slapped him? Told him to fuck off? She had no problem telling him where his leadership skills were lacking so why was she letting him be an asshole personally? She’d treated him well when they were kids, but he’d never thought it was anything beyond admiration. There was nothing admiring and innocent in the way she looked at him now. The way the blush rose up her chest as he drew close, proving to him this attraction was a two-way street.

  And there was Erick to think about. The man had always been protective of his sister, but he also respected her decisions. And while Erick was his best friend, he didn’t quite know everything about Roarke, about the yawning nothingness he’d felt since Flynn died. It wasn’t Erick’s approval that was holding Roarke back from Wren. He was holding himself back.

  He couldn’t dwell on this though, not while Arden Saltner was still free to do what he wanted with Flynn’s blood on his hands. Roarke had poured over Arden’s credit card receipts, and he knew he’d be at the country club tonight, enjoying a gin and tonic, red-faced and jolly in a pair of pleated khakis and a pastel polo.

  He hated that old fuck.

  Getting close to his targets was not something Roarke did—he was a hacker for a reason. He didn’t brawl, and while he owned some guns for protection, he preferred not to use them. This job was personal though, and he didn’t hate the idea of looking Arden in the eye when he took him down.

  Roarke parked his car in his garage and unlocked the door to his apartment. Once inside, he went right to his work station, which was tucked into the corner near the bed. His desk was six feet long, topped with three keyboards, four monitors, and two laptops. Underneath hummed four towers.