Dare to Lie

by Jen McLaughlin

  Damn it. And damn him. He’d promised not to sacrifice himself for me. He should have kept his mouth shut and let me handle this on my own. “He’s lying.”

  Tate held his hands out. “And he told me you’d say that. You’re both insisting the other is innocent, so I did a little digging myself. Turns out, Chris is affiliated on the DEA’s payroll, just like you. It makes me wonder about your brother, and his death, the timing of it all.”

  I growled, lurching toward him again. Brian hadn’t let me go yet, so he easily yanked me back. “You gave me your word, you son of a bitch!”

  Chris cursed and pushed forward. Roger held on to him, but he wasn’t as strong as he used to be, and Chris had survived an abusive father and a childhood from hell, so he wasn’t easy to hold back.

  Roger hit the floor, and he the second he was free, Chris launched himself toward Tate.

  At the last second, Jamie stepped forward, shoving him back. Since Chris’s hands were clasped behind his back, he went down—and he went down hard.

  The sound of his skull crashing against cement was deafeningly loud.

  “Chris!” I shouted, straining against Brian’s hold.

  It didn’t budge.

  Chris let out a strangled groan, and tried to rise. Jamie slammed his fist into his stomach and kicked Chris’s ribs. Then he climbed on top of him, grabbed Chris’s head, and slammed it into the ground again.

  “Stop!” I shouted, my voice strangled.

  Jamie paused.

  Chris rolled to his side, taking a loud, raspy breath, spitting out more blood. “Asshole,” he managed to get out between gasps. “Uncuff me and then we’ll see how this goes.”

  When Jamie growled and lifted his bloody fist again, Tate called out, “Enough. Get off him.”

  “Sir?” Jamie asked, his fist still in the air. “But—”

  “I said enough,” he said, his voice low but deadly calm.

  Jamie glanced at me over his shoulder, then hauled Chris to his feet.

  Chris spat out more blood on the floor, avoiding my eyes. “There’s no need for this shit. I’m guilty. Let him go.”

  I stiffened even more. “Chris, I swear to God I’ll fucking—”

  “Hey.” Brian tightened his grip on me and whispered, “Easy.”

  Tate ignored all of us, continuing on. “It’s clear we have, at the very least, one DEA agent in our midst. And we have a bigger problem than we thought. It’s dangerous enough to get rid of one fed without detection, but now there’s two federal employees . . . and don’t even get me started on Tommy and Frankie. Who knows where the hell they went, or if they’re involved in this mess somehow. Maybe they’re feds, too.”

  Chris flexed his already bruising jaw. “Let him go, and keep me. Problem solved.”

  “You know we can’t do that,” Tate said, crossing his arms. “You’re both trying to shoulder the blame, and the bottom line is, you’re both on the payroll. So you have to stand trial under a jury of your peers.”

  Chris growled and jerked free of Jamie, making the other man stumble back, but Roger was there, waiting, gun pointed at his head. Chris froze, breathing heavily. “Assholes,” he growled.

  “Roger, put the gun away.” Tate sighed. “And both of you, hold him, please. Don’t let go this time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jamie said, his cheeks red.

  “There are two courses open to us,” Tate continued, once both men had a hold on Chris. “We could do what we would usually do for this type of betrayal, and rip them to pieces. Dump an arm here, a leg there, a head in the ocean . . .”

  Brian’s hands tightened on my arms.

  Jamie avoided my eyes.

  Roger spit out a wad of tobacco.

  Chris locked gazes with me.

  “Or . . .” Tate rubbed his chin. “We ruin their cover. Jump them out of the gang, and announce their betrayal to everyone we know. Let everyone know they’re feds, and to never deal with them again.”

  I stiffened. “If you tell everyone, they’ll kill us anyway.”

  “Only if you come back to Steel Row.” Tate looked at Chris, then me. “If you do, yes, you can guarantee you’ll be shot on sight.”

  Jamie grinned.

  Roger grunted.

  Brian was silent.

  I looked at Chris. He was pale, minus the blood that was smeared all over his chin.

  “I live here,” I finally said.

  “Not anymore.” Tate shrugged. “Your home won’t be yours anymore. It’s a small price to pay to continue breathing.”

  Losing my ma’s home wasn’t small.

  It was all I had left of her.

  “I know which option I’m leaning toward, but this isn’t a dictatorship.” Tate looked at the other men in the room. “You are my only remaining lieutenants, and you have a say. We’ll vote. If there’s a tie, then Jamie’s vote is forfeited, since he’s the newest lieutenant here.”

  Brian nodded. “If we vote to kill them, do you think it’s too risky?”

  “Well, I . . .” Tate paused, rubbing his chin. “I think it could bring unwarranted attention to us, and have the DEA breathing down our backs with the ATF at their side. It could be the thing that sets them after us, even though our crimes aren’t in their jurisdiction. At the very least, I think the DEA would share their intel with the ATF, and send them our way with a vengeance.”

  Jamie frowned.

  Roger rested a hand on his gun.

  “With that in mind . . .” Tate said, clearing his throat. He looked at me, then turned to Chris. “Are we ready to take a vote?”

  Chris grinned, showing no fear even though we were dead men. There was no way they’d all decide to let us live. It was too risky. Sons didn’t like loose ends, and we were dangling through the air like ripcords. “Can’t wait to hear the results. I feel like I’m on America’s Got Talent.”

  Tate walked behind me. “All in favor of killing them, raise your hand.”

  Two hands went up.

  I stiffened, because I couldn’t see the other two.

  “Those in favor of jumping them out?” Tate added from behind me.

  Chris paled, sagging against Roger and Jamie.

  Shit. What had Tate and Brian voted?

  “Well, then, I guess we know what comes next, don’t we?” Tate pulled his gun out, and approached me. “I’ll do the honors.”

  I tensed when Tate stopped in front of me, gripping his Glock with white knuckles. After I took what would probably be my last breath, I said, “Don’t let her know it was you. She’s going to need you. Take care of her for me, okay?”

  Tate tensed, his jaw flexing. Chris screamed curses and struggled to break free, but it was useless. He raised the gun and then pain burst through me. I sagged toward the floor, but Brian hauled me up as Tate raised the gun a second time.

  Once again, all I could think of was Skylar.

  I love you, Sky, so much. I’m sorry.

  CHAPTER 28

  SKYLAR

  “How much longer are we going to have to wait?” I asked, pacing in front of Molly’s fireplace. Her bodyguard watched me, his arms crossed, looking less than impressed with my nonstop pacing. It was probably annoying, but there was no stopping it. “It’s been hours.”

  She bit her lip and pet her orange cat’s head. The bags under her eyes were deep and dark. Mine were probably the same. We’d been worrying ourselves to death ever since I’d knocked on her door and introduced myself. At first, she’d been standoffish when she heard my last name, but once we spoke a little bit, we bonded over our bone-deep terror and soul-shattering worry. “I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever done this before?” I asked, stopping in front of her.

  Molly sat on the couch, under a blanket. She was pale, possibly paler than me, and she’d been staring off int
o the distance, fear etched on her features. I’d been beside her until a minute ago, when I’d gotten up because I couldn’t handle just sitting here anymore, doing nothing, when Chris and Scotty were in danger. “No. Not like this. He’s left a lot, and I’ve been scared he wouldn’t come home, but this . . . this is different.”

  I sat next to her, staring at the fireplace and the happily crackling fire her bodyguard had set up for us. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Scotty?” Molly asked.

  “Tate.” I pulled my phone out, checking it for the millionth time. I’d texted him this morning, and told him if he killed Scotty, I’d never forgive him. Because I wouldn’t. He hadn’t read it or replied. “This is wrong. What he’s doing is wrong.”

  Molly said nothing.

  Really, there was nothing to say.

  “They’ll be okay.” I shoved my hair behind my ears. “They have to be okay.”

  Molly nodded. “Yeah.”

  She sounded less than convinced.

  “What kind of world do we live in where we have to sit and wait to see if our men will be killed, and we can’t do anything about it?” I turned the phone in my hand. “Should I call his handler? The DEA has to have some kind of contingency plan for situations like this.”

  “Do you know the number?” Molly asked slowly. “Did he give it to you?”

  I frowned. “No . . .”

  “Could you find it?” she asked, petting the cat under his chin. He purred and flopped over onto his back. “Do you know where to look?”

  “No.” I covered my face. “I can’t do this.”

  Molly rubbed my back. “I know. It—”

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Open up!” Tate called out.

  Relief punched me in the chest, and I ran toward the door, Molly’s bodyguard two steps behind me. Tate wouldn’t be showing up here if he’d killed Scotty and Chris . . . right?

  This had to be a good sign.

  I unlocked the door and swung it inward. “Where are—? Oh my God.”

  Behind him, two men supported Scotty, every inch of visible skin looking bloodied or bruised. Farther back, another group of men held Chris upright, and he looked just as dead on his feet as Scotty.

  Molly peered around her bodyguard and gasped, letting out a strangled cry. She tried to rush past me, but the bodyguard pulled her to a stop. “Chris!”

  He roused, grinned, and said, “Hey, Princess.”

  And then he promptly passed out again.

  Tate stared at me throughout all this, his face pale, and whispered. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

  Swallowing bile, I glanced at Scotty again, ignoring my brother as I tried to assess his injuries. I could barely see his eyes through the swelling on his face, and his ragged breathing indicated at least one broken rib. I tore my horrified gaze off the man I was in love with, and focused on the other man I loved.

  My brother.

  The man who’d done this to him.

  I backed up slowly, my stomach rebelling.

  “You . . . You . . .” I looked at Tate. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “How could you do this to him when you know—?”

  “You’re Scotty’s girl, right?” he interrupted loudly.

  I blinked at him, confused. “What?”

  “Scotty Donahue. This asshole?” He tipped his head toward Scotty, his mouth pressed in a tight line. “You the woman he’s been shacking up with?”

  It was then that I realized what he was doing.

  He was pretending he didn’t know me, so no one would put two and two together.

  He was still “protecting” me.

  I recognized one of the guys holding Scotty as the one who came into my apartment last time, so he knew very well who I was. But the other guys . . .

  “Yes,” I managed to say, though it came out more of a croak than anything. “He’s mine.”

  “Good.” Tate gently pushed me backward, into the house. “Let us in, before someone sees and calls the cops. The last thing your man needs right now is that kind of attention on him.”

  I stood there, watching them carry Scotty’s body in. I gripped the doorknob so tightly it should have branded my skin. “Is he . . . ?”

  “He’s alive,” Tate said, loud enough for the other men to hear him. “Bring Chris in, too.”

  Molly was frozen, watching in horror, a hand pressed to her belly.

  I tried to go to her, but Tate pushed me back against the wall, holding me there. “Stay. We’ll be out of here in a minute.”

  The bodyguard finally let Molly go to Chris, keeping himself between the couple and the gang members, palm resting on his gun.

  I tried to push Tate’s hand off. “Let go of—”

  “Just stay still.” Then, leaning down, he whispered. “They’re out of the Sons now. This was the only way I could save them.”

  My mouth dropped. “Save them? You almost killed them.”

  “Almost,” Tate growled. “It had to be done.”

  He glanced toward the men.

  One was tapping Scotty’s cheek.

  He moaned, but didn’t open his eyes.

  Chris was conscious, and cursing the men out as he struggled to get up.

  The bodyguard hovered, keeping close to Molly.

  “Who . . . what . . . are you?” I asked, shaking my head. Not only had my brother sentenced them to this hell, but he’d helped send them there. “You did this to them?”

  “I had to.” Tate continued on as if nothing had changed between us, while everything had. This level of brutality was shocking. “It was either this or death, Skylar. This is actually the best-case scenario.”

  My stomach rolled, because this wasn’t my brother.

  This wasn’t the Tate I knew.

  “They’ll live.” He didn’t seem to notice my recoiling. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but this was the only way you could be together. It was in your best interests—”

  I pulled free, anger and . . . and . . . fear rushing through my veins. This man, this version of Tate, wasn’t the same man I’d grown up beside. As a kid, he’d refused to kill a spider or an ant, and would set them free outside instead. But now . . . “Get out.”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, and for a second, he let that ice-cold mask slip long enough to show me what he really felt. It wasn’t enough. “Skylar . . .”

  “Out.” I raised my voice. “All of you. Get out.”

  The other two men looked at Tate.

  Molly nodded, picking up the phone with trembling hands. She still had wet cheeks, but she was standing on her own now. The bodyguard stepped forward, looking more than ready for a fight. “I’m calling 911. You better get out of here if you don’t want them asking you questions.”

  “You heard her,” I said to Tate, my voice hollow.

  He leaned back as if I’d hit him, shock etching lines into his face. “Skylar.”

  “I love you, and you’re my brother, but it’s going to take a long time for me to forgive you for this.” I lifted my chin. “You and your men leave Molly’s house. Now.”

  “Clear out,” Molly’s guard called out. “I have more men coming, and you won’t want to be here when they arrive. There will be questions. Lots of questions.”

  Tate hesitated, but then walked out, gesturing for his men to follow him.

  The last one out closed the door, and I rushed toward it to lock it.

  Molly was on the phone with 911, so I fell to my knees at Scotty’s side, my breathing coming hard and fast. A bruise was starting to spread across his cheekbone and I lifted his shirt to see a fist-sized blotch of purple bruising his torso. He was likely bleeding internally. I counted his breaths. They were shallow, but steady. I grabbed his wrist, closed my eyes, and coun
ted his pulse.

  Not good . . .

  But not horrible either.

  Molly hung up, grabbed a massive first-aid kit from under the kitchen sink, and knelt beside Chris, talking quietly. I heard the low murmur of Chris’s reply, and then Molly latched fingers with him, nodding. I hurried to his side and knelt, giving him the same check I’d given Scotty. Chris’s pulse was faster, and a little less steady, but it was still strong enough not to raise alarm.

  Jesus.

  Swallowing past my swollen throat, I hurried back to Scotty’s side. I touched Scotty’s cheeks with the backs of my knuckles, examining him for more injuries now that I knew he was breathing and help was on the way. “Scotty? Can you hear me?”

  He didn’t make a sound.

  I pressed my fingers to his throat, feeling for a pulse again. It was there. Weak, but there. Fumbling with the kit, I pulled out alcohol wipes, determined to clean him up a bit so I could see if he was bleeding anywhere else. Softly, I swept his hair off his sweaty forehead. “Hey. Answer me. Please?”

  He moaned and shifted, his eyes opening slightly. When he saw me, he smiled. The new scab on his lip opened, blood seeping out. But still . . . his eyes shone with happiness.

  All because he’d seen me.

  “Sky?” he whispered.

  “Yeah.” I forced a smile. “It’s me.”

  He shifted, moaning, and I began to gently dab at the dried blood on his face with the wipe. He looked at me again, blinking. “Am I in heaven? I thought for sure I’d go to hell, but if I’m seeing you . . .”

  There were small nicks marring his skin, where whatever object they’d beaten him with had broken the skin. Pain radiated out of my chest because seeing me made him think of heaven, but if we’d never met, this wouldn’t have happened. “Sh.”

  He grabbed my wrist, his gaze locked on me. “Why are you here, too? Are you . . . ?”

  “I’m not dead, Scotty, and neither are you.” I touched his cheek. It was rough and cold. “You’re at Molly and Chris’s house. Tate brought you here, after he . . . after he . . .”

  I couldn’t say it out loud.

  “They jumped me out?” he asked, his brow wrinkling. “Oh God. Chris.”