by Chloe Cox
But Jared knew a guy like Tony would take any job coming to him. Knew Tony probably thought that this secret gig was his entry back in. Like he was earning their trust back. When really he was still cut off, still out in the cold, and that’s why Jared picked him. Because no one would complain much when Tony Tomes ended up dead.
Conor might almost feel bad for him if he wasn’t the sort of total bastard who took a job terrorizing a woman. But he was. Tony was the guy who’d stalked Sierra for months. He’d tortured her, and he’d done it for money.
And now, watching him walking down the street with the sun on his hair and the morning paper under his arm, Conor saw that Tony was the kind of guy who could do all that with a smile.
Conor had rules. He’d had a plan.
But then he saw Tony Tomes smiling, knowing what he’d done to Sierra. What he’d taken from her. And the rules went out the goddamn window.
Conor got out of his car and crossed the street, his vision narrowing. All he saw was his target. Everything else — the sun, the birds singing, all of that Disney shit — faded away. He caught the outside door to the man’s building, an old two family with peeling paint on the outside, and waiting until he heard the door at the top of the stairs open, and then close. Waited some more, and what he didn’t hear next told him something.
Tony Tomes was so goddamn comfortable in the world that he didn’t even lock his front door. Meanwhile, Sierra had to go everywhere with an armed guard.
Conor growled. It wasn’t right. Not how the world should be. He hadn’t been able to get his sister away from the asshole who got her hooked on heroin, he hadn’t been able to protect Mikey, he hadn’t been able to save Granny. But here, now, there was this walking fucking manifestation of what wasn’t right in the world, and Conor was going to change that. One way or the other.
He launched up the stairs three at a time and didn’t wait when he got there. Braced against the railing, one front kick right next to the doorknob and the door flew inwards, splintering off part of the frame. Conor was inside in the next second, not giving Tomes time to react, to settle. He was just sitting there drinking his coffee, reading the paper, until he was suddenly in the air and against the wall.
“How’s it feel to be hunted, asshole?” Conor growled, his forearm up against Tomes’ throat.
The other man sputtered, his eyes wide and wild, looking all around. Took him a second to settle on Conor’s face. Took only half a second for them to widen in recognition.
“Oh, shit,” Tomes rasped.
“You’re goddamn right,” Conor said.
But as Conor stood there, the key to keeping Sierra safe pinned against the wall under his hand, something was still wrong inside him. And it was stirring.
Twenty-Six
Conor didn’t actually enjoy violence. He was just good at it. So it brought him no joy to pin Sierra’s stalker up against the wall by his throat.
But you do what you gotta do.
“You’re the bodyguard,” Tomes rasped.
“You’re the piece of shit,” Conor said.
Tomes cracked a smile like they were sharing a joke, two guys on opposite sides of the same job. Like this was just a professional conflict.
“C’mon man, you can drop the act,” Tomes said. Conor had let up a bit on his throat. He needed answers to questions, after all. But now Tomes was giving him a look.
“What are you gonna do, kill me?” the stalker-for-hire said. “For some spoiled little rich bitch? We both know it’s not personal, so—”
“What did you say?”
Conor said it very quietly. His arm across the other man’s throat hadn’t moved, but it had somehow become hard as iron.
“I can cut you in,” Tomes wheezed.
“Stop talking.” Conor growled.
And then he held himself still, Tomes trying and failing to struggle under him. Their faces were close, Tomes breathing hard, Conor still, still, still. Like a statue, on the outside. He’d hit pause while he tried to figure out what the hell was going on inside of him. He felt it again, something big and obvious lurking just beneath the surface. Conor hadn’t had a lot of time to think since the previous night. Since sleeping with Sierra. Maybe he would have seen it if he had, or maybe it was just too big to be seen all at once. Felt like a goddamn monster. Stirring, unfurling, deep in his chest.
And then Tony Tomes’ face changed.
To wide-eyed fear.
“Oh fuck me,” Tomes said. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
Conor didn’t say anything. The thing in his chest got lighter and brighter, wings spreading out. It was the craziest fucking feeling.
“Look, I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m sorry—”
“Shut up.”
Conor shook his head, just so slightly. He didn’t usually get to be dumbstruck. Didn’t go with the Dom territory. But today? Dumbstruck.
Man, he was an idiot.
The flat truth was that Sierra woke him up after he went into hibernation, after the last funeral. He’d been asleep for years, but she’d gotten to his frozen heart, warmed it up, and now the thing was thawing, bringing with it all the grief Conor had pushed aside while he’d handled his life. So he’d shut down when he saw the same scene he’d seen all those years before, only Tiffany in place of his sister. Tiffany lived, and Sierra wasn’t even involved, but his brain saw a pattern and made a conclusion. And ever since, the thought of losing Sierra like that pressed on his subconscious, the pressure sharp and getting sharper, scaring him like nothing else ever had.
Because he was in fucking love with her.
And it had taken this scumbag stalker-for-hire to point it out.
Conor hadn’t figured it out himself, and it had cost him. He’d walked out on Sierra right when she needed him most. He’d do whatever he had to to make it right, but that wasn’t his only problem.
Sierra’s brother was still trying to kill her. Tony Tomes would help prove it.
Conor had just figured out that he loved her, and now he was going to have to carefully break her heart.
It was barely ten in the morning, and this was already the weirdest day Sierra’d had in a long, long time.
Besides having to put her friend in a treatment program — which, Sierra would be dealing with that emotional fall out for a while; she could feel it looming all around her, enormous and terrible, and for now she was just blocking it out because otherwise she would just cease to function — and besides the weirdness of Conor acting like…well, like they were a couple in real, actual life, there was the weirdness of Kane Lyons and Rourke Donegan.
The two men had been guarding her all day as though they were Conor’s replacements. The other two bodyguards, both tall, nearly interchangeable Ken dolls with wrap around glasses and serious expressions, hadn’t even introduced themselves. Meanwhile, Kane and Rourke had followed her around like two terrifying shadows.
Like it was personal, for both of them.
So that was weird. Especially since Rourke wasn’t even an actual employee of Lyons Security. He was just some sort of fancy lawyer who was a partner in Club Volare. Yet he was here, in her living room.
And he had given Kane a serious look when Sierra finally asked what the hell was up with Conor.
Her question still hung in the air between the three of them, Rourke glaring at Kane, Kane looking impassively back. It was like they were having a telepathic conversation.
“Hello?” Sierra said.
“We heard you,” Rourke said.
But it was Kane who looked at her with the full force of a Dom.
“You’re determined to have this party at your family compound?” he said.
Sierra steadied herself. Freaking Doms. She was in her own living room, in her own comfy sweats, and curled up on her equally comfy couch. The only thing she was missing was Conor. Which hurt to say, even to herself.
Suddenly she had to blink back tears. Sierra was more of a mess than she realized
. She needed answers.
“‘Determined’ is a strong word,” she said, hugging a pillow to her chest and leveling her gaze at Kane at the same time. “But yeah, I’m doing it. Why?”
Kane didn’t answer her. Instead, he looked at Rourke.
Another look.
“Conor would rather we caught the guy before you go anywhere,” Kane said, finally. “And I agree. But we’ll send people up early to make sure we have security down, no matter what you decide.”
Sierra grit her teeth.
“I just told you,” she said. “I don’t care who this guy is, or where he is, or if you catch him. This is the last thing I have to do before…”
She caught herself. Sierra didn’t know either of these men. They weren’t Conor, anyway. And while she would have explained to Conor, in a heartbeat, that she needed to do this one last thing and then she would be free, she couldn’t bring herself to admit it to strangers. She didn’t show that side of herself to anyone. Except Conor. Who had left.
“I am not letting the piece of crap who’s been stalking me mess with my life more than he already has, Kane.”
This time both men looked at her, maybe with something approaching respect. Good. Sierra might be a sub, but she wasn’t stupid. And she wasn’t a pushover.
“Fair enough,” Kane said, nodding.
This is it. Say it. Don’t let them avoid it.
Why was challenging Doms so damn difficult?
Sierra cleared her throat.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she said. “We have a professional relationship, Kane. Please don’t treat me like an idiot. I asked what was going on with Conor.”
Kane opened his mouth, and then closed it.
Sierra couldn’t believe it. Had she left a Dom speechless?
It was Rourke who broke the silence. Only he did it with a humorless laugh.
“Well, he’s got a dead sister, no family, and he’s trying to make things right,” Rourke said. “He might go off the reservation at times.”
“Rourke.”
The two men exchanged another look. Ok, it was clear at this point that they disagreed about something. Did they disagree about what to tell Sierra? Was it something to do with making things right? What did that—
Wait.
“Did you say ‘dead sister?’” Sierra said.
Rourke exhaled, forcefully. “I did.”
“How did she die?” she asked, but she felt like she already knew the answer.
“Overdose,” Kane said. “Pills to heroin to a bad batch.”
“Oh Jesus,” Sierra said.
“That’s not the only person who died,” Rourke said to no one in particular. Something was bugging him. But Kane crossed the room, came and sat next to her on the couch. Close. Like a confidant. Meanwhile, Rourke paced.
“Look, I’ll tell you what I got from his background check,” Kane said, with another look towards Rourke. “Since Conor has at least that on you. You know he was in the foster system? He had a found family, for the most part. But they all died in separate incidents in under five years. His sister was the first to go. An overdose, like I said. So last night…”
“Last night might have messed him up,” Rourke finished.
Sierra sat back, the pillow close to her chest.
Good Lord.
His sister had died just like Tiffany had almost died. And Kane and Rourke didn’t even know that Sierra had her own history with it. That she’d told Conor about it. That after they made love for the first time — and yes, that was what it felt like, even if they hadn’t talked about it, even if he was gone now — that right after that, Sierra had essentially sprung a nightmare from his past on him.
Sierra had grown up used to being alone, but then she’d found Tiffany. And then, last night, she’d almost lost Tiff, and the yawning chasm of what that might be like had opened up in front of her. She still didn’t have the courage to look into it. It had been too terrible.
And Conor had apparently lost everyone?
She was so used to thinking of her own vulnerabilities. And Conor seemed almost invulnerable. Even more so than other Doms. There’d been this ebb and flow, these moments of closeness and then distance again. She’d thought it had been the professional boundaries, the difficulty of the situation, that he didn’t see her as whatever — always something that had to do with her. But what if it had nothing to do with her? What if Conor’s issues ran deeper?
And then Rourke’s phone rang, and Kane gave him one last, hard look, and Sierra knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt: they were still hiding something.
Conor was hiding something.
Her heart told her that Conor would never hurt her. But her head just kept asking: what could be so terrible that he had to hide it away?
Where was he?
Twenty-Seven
Conor waited in the alley behind Club Volare with Tony Tomes handcuffed in the back of his borrowed car, waiting for Rourke to show up, trying to get a handle on the monster Tony had accidentally unleashed.
Conor Kelly was in love with Sierra Fiore.
There was no getting around it. The second Tomes had said it, Conor had known it was true. Felt like taking a bullet to the chest with a vest on. Just immediately knocked you on your metaphorical ass. First time in his life that had happened to him, and it had to be with Tony goddamn Tomes two inches from his face.
Conor laughed. It was kind of funny. Less funny was the fact that he’d been afraid of it. Conor wasn’t one of those macho idiots who thought a man was never afraid — anyone who’d actually been in battle would know that was one hundred percent bullshit. No, he was at peace with feeling fear, even if it didn’t happen very often. But running from fear was unacceptable. Especially when it involved Sierra.
But Conor had run from how he felt. That was the hard truth. He’d been afraid to admit to himself that he loved her because, even though it made no damn sense, after the last couple of years his brain believed that the people he loved would die. Overdose, cancer, shot by a coward: didn’t matter. They all haunted him.
But he was a soldier and a Dom. He didn’t run from fear. Now that he knew what it was, Conor was going to deal with it. He’d failed to get his sister away from the abusive bastard who’d eventually killed her by proxy, sticking that needle in her arm.
He would not fail to get Sierra away from the abusive bastard who was trying to kill her by proxy of the scumbag currently cuffed in the back of the car.
Conor looked up as another car crunched into the alley. Perfect timing.
“Took you long enough,” Conor said as Rourke got out of his fancy sedan.
“I had to go get my car,” Rourke said.
Made sense if Rourke went with Kane and Sierra back to her place straight from the hospital. Conor’s lip curled slightly at the thought, a growl trapped in his throat. Conor hadn’t been there to do that. Granted, he’d been here, tracking down one of the men who’d been terrorizing her, with a good chance to nail down the other one.
But he’d still walked away from her when she needed him most. No getting away from that.
“Jesus Christ,” Rourke said, peering into the back seat window of Conor’s borrowed car. “You cuffed him?”
“Yup.”
“Club cuffs?”
Conor grinned. “Yup.”
Rourke pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You sure this is legal?” he said.
“Probably. Besides,” Conor said, and opened the car door to reveal Tony Tomes squinting up at both men, hunched forward with his arms behind his back. “Tony doesn’t mind. He’s still going to testify. Aren’t you, Tony?”
“Fuck you, Kelly,” Tomes said. “But yes. All right? I told you we had a deal.”
“Your DA friend cool with that?” Conor asked.
“Probably,” Rourke said.
“Tell him what you told me, Tony.”
Tomes sighed, then turned as much as he could with the cuffs on and
squinted back up. Didn’t look comfortable, but Conor kept thinking about the fear he’d seen in Sierra’s eyes after each of Tomes’ little stunts. Tony Tomes might not be as evil as Jared Fiore, but that was more from a lack of talent than a lack of effort. Conor wasn’t going to do a damn thing to make him comfortable. In fact, the only reason Tony Tomes wasn’t in a world of pain at that very moment was because of what he had to offer.
“Speak, Tony,” Conor said. He wasn’t asking.
“It’s like I told you,” Tony said. “I never saw Jared himself, just a guy named Stan.”
“And who does Stan work for?”
“Jared Fiore,” Tony said, automatically. “Everyone knows that.”
Conor and Rourke exchanged a look. Criminals were usually not the sharpest tools in the shed, and Tony didn’t disappoint. Still, that might be a weak link in the chain. It meant they’d need to get a little bit more.
“Keep going.”
“I got paid to do all that stuff, all right? All that stalker stuff with the little princess. Next thing is he wants me up at the Fiore compound next weekend,” Tony said. “I don’t know why.”
“I do,” Conor said. His big hand closed over the top of the opened door and squeezed, hard, as he thought about why. Jared Fiore was going to pay. “But don’t worry, Tony. You’re not going.”
With that, Conor closed the car door with a heavy thud and looked back at Rourke.
“Ok, yeah,” Rourke said. “This should help. I’ll take him to the DA, who will take him to a safe house. And if we can build a case around this guy, maybe we can even get a warrant for that office on the compound.”
Conor looked at his friend. “I’m not waiting on a warrant,” he said.
