by Malcom, Anne
He was staring at me now. In that way that made me want to come out of my skin.
I stood so I could sit in his lap. “I know that you think that you’re bad for me. And maybe you are. Maybe I’m bad for you. Maybe we’re the worst for each other. But you made me love sunrise again.”
His arms flexed around me. Then he kissed me.
Chapter Nineteen
One Week Later
“I’m buying tampons, Elden,” I said looking at the store. “If you want to come with me and know just how heavy my flow is, be my guest.”
Never did I think the man in front of me was even capable of a blush or that I’d be able to make him do it. He’d likely seen all kinds of violence and death, yet here he was blushing in the face of tampons.
Men. They could handle war but not women’s menstruation.
“Be quick,” he all but barked, brogue rough to cover up his embarrassment.
I smiled all the way to the feminine hygiene aisle.
All the while going through the week since we’d arrived back. I sensed that Hansen was not pleased with our impromptu field trip, considering I barely saw Liam apart from when he crawled into bed with me late at night. He fucked me in the darkness.
He whispered things to me in the darkness.
We were living a life that neither of us were meant to have.
And it wasn’t beautiful.
But I had more than three things on my list for the entire week.
So I was thinking of that simple thing and not the other thousand complicated things that were going to come soon.
Until a man in a cheap suit approached me while I was reaching for the Tampax and trying to dissect the fact that I was disappointed that I had my period. Not because that meant Liam and I couldn’t have sex. He showed me just how unafraid he was of blood.
I blushed at the mere thought of it.
And I blushed at nothing. Definitely nothing to do with sex.
But never did I think I would be comfortable having sex at this time of the month. I always thought it would be uncomfortable and messy.
It was messy.
But it sure as shit wasn’t uncomfortable.
It turned out that I was not only unafraid of blood but turned on by it.
“Caroline Hargrave,” the man in the suit greeted.
I grabbed hold of the box of tampons before I turned to him. He didn’t even blanch at the box his eyes touched for a second. Points to him.
“Detective,” I replied, taking in his slightly weathered but not unattractive face. He didn’t have much in the way of muscle underneath his suit, but he had a gun and authority, which surely made him feel like he could bench four hundred.
He raised his brow. “That obvious, huh?”
I smiled tightly. “I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself, I’m more perceptive than most people.”
He folded his arms, casually, like he always had conversations with women he somehow knew the name of while she had her biker guard outside the door and holding a box of tampons.
“Ah, yes, most people are not world-renowned journalists,” he said.
I didn’t act surprised. Because the fact that he approached me, knowing my name, when I was alone told me everything that I needed to know. “I’m not world renowned. You’re flattering me, and men don’t normally flatter women without an ulterior motive.” I regarded him. “Mostly that motive is to sleep with them, but I’m guessing detectives don’t approach women in the feminine hygiene aisle, already knowing their name and their job with the purpose of getting a date.”
He chuckled. The sound was nice. Easy. Which had me on edge. Maybe I was so used to hard, to ugly that I didn’t know how to be around well-adjusted people.
But I had a feeling about this not unattractive—if poorly dressed—detective, who was not put off by tampons and had an easy laugh.
I was usually spot on with my feelings.
“Smart, and not one to mince words,” he observed. “I’m not trying to pick you up, but you’re making me reconsider that.”
The line was smooth, and somehow not creepy.
But it felt wrong.
Just like his smile and light eyes.
I didn’t have this instinct regarding the law before all this. I didn’t generalize them. In my line of work, I’d seen a lot of shitty cops do shitty things. Abuse their power. But cops were people, and there were a lot of shitty people in the world, it was just statistical that some of them would be given a badge.
I’d also seen cops who didn’t start out as shitty people, but a flawed justice system, long hours and seeing the worst of humanity on the daily ground them down to lazy, cynical and jaded people.
There were still good cops.
Just like there were still good people.
We just didn’t hear about them as much.
The man in front of me had all the signifiers of a good cop and a good person, but I didn’t like him.
Maybe I was inheriting the Sons of Templar’s uneasiness toward the law just like I was adopting their lifestyle in a way that a reporter shouldn’t.
“I’m not looking for a date,” I said in response.
He continued to smile. “I guess not. The Sons of Templar keep you pretty busy, don’t they?”
I clenched the flimsy box in my hand. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”
He shrugged. “I’m not implying anything. Just stating a fact.”
“A fact that you’ve got knowledge of because of surveillance,” I countered. “Who are you with?”
He reached inside his jacket to show me his badge.
“DEA, Detective Rickens,” I said, reading it. “In addition to being a world-renowned reporter, I’ve got a hell of a memory. For names. Faces. Badge numbers. You know, just in case anything to do with this is untoward.”
He put his badge in his jacket. “Nothing untoward here. Just curious as to what a journalist is doing so heavily involved with an outlaw motorcycle gang that does not take kindly to rats,” he said.
“Club,” I corrected without thinking. “They’re a club. Not a gang.”
He smiled wider. “Ah, so you’re obviously fond of the club. The fact they’ve kept you around shows they’re fond of you.” He paused. “I wonder if they’ll be so fond if they found out that you were writing a story on them.”
I narrowed my eyes. Was this guy for freaking real? “What do you want from me, Detective?” I said instead of replying to the open threat.
“I just want you to know, that you can make a statement at the same time as writing a story.” He glanced outside where Elden was leaning against the door of the SUV he drove me in. Liam had made a directive that I was not to be on anyone’s bike but his. I didn’t fight him on it.
I was done fighting with him.
“I’m not interested in making a statement, that’s the whole point of being a journalist, I don’t take sides.” I tried to move and leave him standing there surrounded by tampons, but he moved to block my way.
“Ah, but it looks to me that you’ve taken sides,” he said, no longer smiling. “What would that do to your stellar reputation as being one of the fairest journalists out there?”
I gritted my teeth. “You’re brave,” I said instead of replying to that.
“For going after a criminal organization that spans the country and who we suspect to be running weapons illegally throughout the country? That’s justice, ma’am.”
“No, that’s not brave. Nor is it justice, by the looks of the way you’re going about it. It’s stupidity. What’s brave is you walking up to me, seeing what I’m holding in my hand, obviously using your detective skills to deduce what time of the month it is, and with prior knowledge of me facing off with men much more intimidating than you, and with all of that information, you still decide to threaten and accost me. You deserve a medal for that, Detective.”
On that, I pushed past him and went to pay for my tampons.
* * *
&nbs
p; “No women in church,” Claw growled as I flung the door open, somehow skirting the prospect that had tried to stop me doing so. It’s not like he had much time to react when I all but jumped out of the moving car and rushed into the clubhouse. I’d intended to go to Liam, but the doors to church were closed. So I did what I always did when men shut themselves in a room to discuss things and tried to bar me from the conversation, I bowled right in.
All of the men stopped whatever they’d been talking about to put their hands on their guns and prepare for a threat. Even though there was no way a threat was just going to waltz through the door with all the security they had.
“Well, since the 19th amendment granted the women the right to vote, we’ve been in the cabinet since 1933, have been able to serve in the military, allowed autonomy over our own bodies when we got birth control in 1960, we’ve been in space since Sally Ride went up there in 1983, I think we can say that my vagina isn’t stopping me from stepping into any place I want,” I shot, raising my eyebrow in challenge at the men in the room.
My gaze touched on Liam, the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement or appreciation, I wasn’t sure.
“I was threatened today,” I said.
Liam lost all amusement.
He prowled over to me. “What the fuck?” he hissed, glaring at Elden. “Where the fuck were you?” he demanded. He didn’t wait for the answer, he snatched my upper arms, searching my body for something.
“I said I was threatened, not assaulted,” I clarified.
That didn’t make him let me go. “Fernandez?” he hissed.
“Nope,” I replied.
He froze. It was bad enough when a threat they were expecting made it through their defense, these guys didn’t do well with the unknown.
“This one was on the other side of the law.”
The air in the room turned wired.
Liam let me go. He turned to Hansen. “Whose radar are we on?”
Hansen clenched his fists. “No one’s.”
“If I may?” I interrupted.
Hansen’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded for me to speak.
“I know it’s meant to be clandestine and I’m not meant to actually know this, but you’re currently engaged in a war with one of the biggest human traffickers in the world,” I said, stating the obvious. “And you’re engaging in this was as any outlaw would, with killing, torture. And surely he’ll do the same. Because he’s an outlaw too.” I paused, looking from Liam to Hansen. “But he’s also a monster. One that has connections with other monsters inside the law.”
I thought on the intel I’d gotten from my contact. The details that had disturbed me when I thought I couldn’t be shocked anymore.
“He’s brought down people before,” I said. “Using the various tools at his disposal. Some of them disappear. Some appear drugged, naked and for sale. Some get put behind bars for charges real or made up. Some of those people are guilty of crimes. It’s easier to frame someone when they’re guilty.” I shrugged. “It could be coincidence that the long arm of the law has finally gotten hold of you around the same time a man who owns half of the world’s leaders has decided to take you down. But I don’t think so.”
“No, there’s no such thing in coincidence in this world,” Hansen muttered. “Fuck,” he hissed.
I swallowed, the weight of what I was doing finally landing. I wasn’t proving myself exactly wrong about what I’d said to the detective—I was no longer an observer, I was taking sides.
Shit.
I looked to Liam.
Then my mind spoke of its own volition. Or maybe my heart.
“I’ve got sources in the DEA,” I said. “I can press them, see if they’ve actually got an ongoing investigation on the books or if this agent is going rogue.”
Hansen looked stunned for about half a minute and then he nodded once. He looked to Liam. “I want you calling Wire, see if he can find out who this piece of shit is—”
“Wire doesn’t need to do that,” I interrupted. Eyes on me again. “Detective David Rickens—45628, the first five letters of his Agent Number.”
Hansen’s mouth twitched and he looked to Liam. “Well, get him to look that fucker up, check his finances. See if he’s dirty.”
Liam nodded once, eyes on me.
Hansen focused on me. “Appreciate this, Caroline,” he said, voice genuine. “Club appreciates it.”
I nodded once. “Don’t mention it.” And I really didn’t want anyone to. Because it was a reminder of how far I was falling.
Right into the underworld.
* * *
Liam found me later, after he’d presumably called Wire and found out whether the detective was dirty.
Claw and I were playing poker again.
Regular poker, not strip poker like he’d been so intent on.
And I was beating him.
Bad.
“Again,” he grumbled as I raked in a stake of ones.
I raised my brow. “Seriously? What are you going to do when you don’t have any singles to tuck into thongs later on?”
He scowled.
But he was beaten by another man advancing on me, not just scowling, but glowering.
Liam didn’t even speak, he just grabbed my upper arm roughly and yanked me up.
“Hey!” I protested as he didn’t seem to be perturbed by the tightness of his grip.
I didn’t fight because it was useless, and Liam was obviously determined to yell at me about something.
Liam never yelled before.
Now it was his default.
I folded my arms as he slammed the door shut. “I’ll have you know that you just interrupted a really fucking great winning streak, so this better be good.”
His features were contorted in fury. “Good?” he repeated quietly. “No, I’d say this was not fucking good. You were approached by the law today, fuckin’ threatened. Threatened because you were protecting the club. Then you came back here, into church, not only told us everything about this fucker down to his badge number, you went and played fuckin’ poker with Claw.”
I frowned at him. “How is this something for you to drag me across the room about?” I demanded. “If this is some crazy protective stuff, you’re stopping that right now, I’m allowed to play fricking poker with another man, Liam. Macy is busy, I didn’t feel like watching a movie and I can’t exactly go on a walk.”
“It’s not about the fucking poker,” he hissed. “It’s about the fact you protected the club and you lied to the law, you went over the line.”
I frowned. “What line?”
“The line that separates you from us,” he yelled. “The line that keeps you safe, keeps you out of this fucking shit.”
I scowled back at him. “If you hadn’t noticed lately, I’m about knee deep in this fucking shit.”
“No. You were here for your story. Now—”
“No Liam!” I was yelling now. “It was never about the story. Even when it was about the story. You need to stop fucking demonizing yourself and this club. Trying to tell me how bad you all are. I’ve seen bad. And you’re not good, but you’re not as bad as you pretend to be either.
“Look at our backs,” he hissed. “Look at our fucking patch.”
I did as he asked because the authority, the danger in his tone overruled any strong rational thought.
“You see wings on those cuts, babe?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer.
“No, you see the reaper. We’re not fucking angels. We’re death. You’re so fucking familiar with death, you treat it like some old friend.”
“Yeah, I do,” I agreed, matching the anger in his tone with my own. “I have to be familiar with death, and it was you that introduced us. I had to stare at it every day, regardless. So I thought, maybe if I learned to look it in the eye the way it was staring at me, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“And did it work?”
“What the fuck do you think, Liam?” I h
issed.
He didn’t answer. Instead he snatched my neck and kissed me.
He ripped off all our clothes.
Chapter Twenty
“Caroline,” Hansen greeted me with five pale, angular, muscled and very well-dressed men beside him. “We have some important guests here tonight. I assume you’ll take care of them?”
I nodded, figuring they were Russian even before they greeted me in heavy accents. I knew it because they spoke Russian before they spoke in English. They talked about how it was a shame I wasn’t showing enough tit. Then placed bets on who would be fucking me tonight.
With or without my approval, apparently.
I wasn’t overtly worried, mostly because of Liam’s murderous gaze from across the room. It was foolish to feel protected by him, but I was making a lot of foolish decisions lately.
The fact he drove me home from the bar every single night and spent the rest of it fucking me into oblivion told me that the Russians weren’t going to get their chance.
I smiled and got their drinks, not letting on I understood them.
It wouldn’t pay to start a conflict with the men I guessed were responsible for supplying the Sons of Templar with their main source of income.
Plus, I was a witness. I wasn’t meant to interfere.
Even though I’d already done that two days ago with the detective. And it turned out I was right, he got a deposit into his account from an overseas company a month ago. The month that he reopened the file on the Sons of Templar, New Mexico.
Fernandez was trying to bring them down from both sides of the law.
It was closing in. I could feel it.
And I didn’t think the presence of the Russians that joked about raping me meant anything good.
* * *
It was toward the end of the night, when vodka had loosened their tongues that I heard it. Most of their talk was centered around women. That was disturbing.
