by A. Zavarelli
“You don’t miss much, do you?”
“The only thing I missed is what you’re doing here, in this bar, sitting here beside me.”
“Alright.” He folds the napkin beneath the beer in his hands while he talks. “I just thought you should know Quinn won’t be here this evening.”
This banter has lost its appeal.
“Let me guess. He hired you as personal security. What a goddamn joke.”
I get up to leave, but he reaches for my arm and stops me. When I glare at him, however, he removes it quickly.
“I’m not his security,” the stranger tells me. “In fact, he doesn’t know me at all. But I know you, Tenly. Or do you prefer Scarlett?”
There is no malice in his voice. But I am rattled nonetheless.
“What is this about?”
“I’d like to tell you,” he says. “In a more private setting, if you don’t mind.”
I’m about to tell him to fuck right off when he flashes a badge at me.
Fucking FBI.
“Do I have a choice?” I ask. “And will there be anyone else there?”
“You can trust me,” he says. “I’m not like Royce.”
I want to leave. But something in his eyes keeps my feet firmly planted in place. The funny thing is, I do believe he’s one of the good guys, even if he’s about to make my day hell. And I also believe, I’m probably going to want to hear what he has to say.
I give him a small nod, and he retrieves his jacket, gesturing for me to follow him.
We take the elevator up to the roof.
“And this is the part where you murder me, right?”
He shakes his head and closes the door behind us, making a point to show me it’s not locked.
“You can leave at any time you don’t feel safe.”
I cross my arms and look out over the city, waiting for him to tell me why he dragged me up here in the first place.
“My name is Booker Cayce, if you want to know.”
“You obviously know mine already,” I answer.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on Royce for some time now,” he tells me.
“So I guess that means you’ve been keeping an eye on me too.”
He nods.
“That still doesn’t explain how you know about his friends. I never told anyone.”
“You didn’t have to,” he says. “Royce has notes of his own.”
Notes?
Jesus, I don’t even want to think that could be real.
“How can I be sure that any of what you are saying is even true?” I ask him. “I mean, do they even let amputees into the FBI academy?”
“There was a case a few years ago,” he tells me. “A wounded veteran. It set a precedent. As long as I am fully capable of performing my duties, then it’s not an issue.”
It sounds legit, but I don’t know. I don’t know what to make of this guy at all.
“Why were you watching Royce?” I ask.
“I had suspicions about him. Most were unsubstantiated. I didn’t want to bring them forward to the bureau until I was certain.”
“And you are telling me this why?”
I know why, but fuck. I need to hear him say it. I need him to tell me how screwed I am.
“I don’t blame you for wanting them dead,” he says. “They deserve it, for what they did to you.”
I stare past him, so I don’t have to see his eyes. So I don’t have to witness the expression on his face while he talks about my past.
“I don’t know what happened to Ethan,” he continues, “but I highly suspect it wasn’t a robbery. And as for Trip? His overdose is questionable, but not unlikely either, given his history of drug abuse.”
I wait for the hammer to fall. Either he’s going to blackmail me, or he’s going to send me packing in an orange jumpsuit.
“Royce is growing reckless. And he has a pervasive obsession with you that’s only getting worse by the day.”
I do meet his gaze this time. And I put it into words he can understand.
“You’ve been to war,” I say. “You know some people are so fucked in the head the only humane thing to do is put them down.”
“That might be true,” he agrees. “But this isn’t a war zone, Tenly. And I can’t allow you to kill him.”
I feel it happening. The bricks and mortar of my carefully constructed house of revenge crumbling in on themselves. He’s taking this away from me, and I hate him for it.
“So what do you suggest?” I bite back. “Just let him kill me? That’s the way these things usually end. You want to tell me to get a restraining order and wave it in his face when he comes for me?”
“That depends,” he answers. “Tell me about Kylie and her friend Katie.”
I look away. But there is no hiding my reaction. Booker isn’t a businessman looking for a cheap thrill.
He’s got me cornered, and he knows it.
“I want to put him away for good,” he says. “But I need your help to do it.”
“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head. “No fucking way. Are you kidding me? You think prison is going to stop him? If he even makes it to prison. I know how these things work, okay. You’re asking me to get up on a stand and testify against him?”
“And Quinn, and Duke.”
“This is a goddamn joke,” I mutter. “Do you know what the likelihood of winning that case would be? There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell. There’s no evidence. It’s just my word against theirs.”
“There’s also a journal,” he tells me. “Trip wrote everything down. A confession.”
“That isn’t enough. People think I’m dead, and I’d like it to stay that way.”
“Well unfortunately,” Booker says. “The ones who matter all know you’re alive now. So you really will be dead soon, if you don’t do this, Tenly. Because I can’t protect you unless you agree to testify.”
“No,” I tell him again. “In fact, that’s a hell no.”
I walk towards the door, and his voice stops me.
“It isn’t just about you,” he says. “How many other women do you think he will kill before he gets to you?”
My hand shakes on the knob.
“You can’t put that on me.”
“He’s going to out you,” Booker says, and his voice is resigned now. “There are photos of you. Piles of evidence. The senator’s son, and plenty of others. He’s already been in contact with several news outlets.”
And he’s got me, because I know for fact these things are true.
I turn around and meet his gaze. I’ve never pleaded with anyone in my life, but I want to plead with him right now. To stop this. I want to believe he’s a good person.
Like Rory.
I can tell he respects women. He respects me. But there is no such thing as a good deed.
“What do you get out of all this?” I ask him. “What do you get for helping me out?”
He turns away, disgusted with himself, guilty… and I am right. I am always right.
“When it’s over,” he says. “I’ll need a favor of my own.”
“Sorry, Rumple. I don’t deal in those sorts of favors. You’ll need to tell me upfront, or no deal.”
His eyes flicker to the skyline, and absently, he rubs the scars on the back of his hand.
“Storm.”
Well, that is a surprise.
“What about her?”
“I need to know where I can find her.”
I don’t tell him that I don’t know, because right now, this is the only bargaining chip I have. And it’s always better to let people believe they are going to get what they want from you.
“You’d know better than anyone how to find her,” he adds.
“What do you want with her?”
He doesn’t answer. But there’s something in his eyes that tells me this is personal for him. He wants it badly.
Badly enough to blackmail me into doing the right thing. And I’m guessing he’s not a man who goe
s against his honor very often.
But it doesn’t matter.
On the streets, we have our own Omertà.
I wouldn’t give her up for any of his promises. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“Fine,” I say. “If I do this, you’ll get rid of all the evidence against me?”
He nods.
“My mother’s going to have a fucking coronary when she finds out.”
“Probably,” he agrees. “But she hasn’t been much of a mother to you, so I wouldn’t concern yourself with how she feels.”
“Don’t pretend to know me,” I warn him. “You don’t know me, no matter what you’ve dug up in my life. You know what’s on paper, and that’s all.”
He ignores my barb and gives me a nod.
“Let’s do this then. Let’s get it over with.”
“I’m going to give you the week to think about it,” he says.
“There’s nothing to think about,” I argue. “Do you want me to do this or not? There’s no point fucking around…”
“There’s something else you should know before you agree.”
Whatever it is, I’m not going to like it.
“This kind of trial, it’s going to be complex. Drawn out. Media everywhere. You’ll be watched closely by the bureau, by the opposing council, by reporters who are out for blood.”
“And your point?”
“Rory Brodrick,” he says quietly.
And suddenly, everything that was so clear has become very hazy.
Rory.
How could I not have factored him into this? I’ve been spending so much time with him, of course Booker would know about him too.
My mouth is dry when I ask my next question.
“What about him?”
“I don’t want to be presumptuous,” Booker says, “but I’d venture a guess in saying that you might care for him.”
He takes my silence as an affirmative.
“If you don’t want him involved in this… if you don’t want to arouse suspicion of the syndicate by bringing heat down onto them, then you’ll need to stay away from him.”
And there it is.
My clarity.
This morning, things with Rory were so gray. Muddled and confused and uncertain. But Booker’s words make it very black and white. And I have to confront the very real feelings I’ve been trying so hard to deny.
I do care for Rory.
I’m in love with him.
And that’s as real as it’s ever going to get for me.
“Why would you do that?” I ask Booker. “Why would you warn me? If you know what they do…”
“I don’t believe Rory Brodrick is a bad man,” he says. “But the practices of criminal syndicates are generally the same the world over. If they catch you talking to the feds, what do you think would happen?”
I know what would happen.
Rory wouldn’t hurt me. But Lachlan? I’m not so sure. I’m Mack’s friend, but if he had to choose between protecting his family or me, he’s always going to choose his family.
“He’s a good man,” I tell Booker. “Rory would never hurt me.”
“I know,” he says. “I’ve seen you together.”
The rest of my words fail me, but Booker understands perfectly.
“And you won’t hurt him either.”
He’s right.
I can’t bring him into this mess. Any further than he already is. I can’t risk his life, or his relationship with the syndicate.
I need him to hate me. It’s the only way he will let me go. He said so himself. That he would go to battle for me. That he won’t ever give up.
I close my eyes, and a shudder racks my body.
I’m going to fall on my sword for him. To protect him. And to love him in the only way I can. By keeping him as far away from me as possible.
Giving him a real shot at happiness. With someone who deserves it.
Booker is waiting for me when I open my eyes. Waiting for the words he already knew were coming.
“I’ll need your help.”
Thirty-One
Rory
It’s late, and most of the lads have cleared out of the gym, but Conor lingers behind. He’s itching to get back to Ivy, but I make him spar with me, anyway.
When the door opens, and it’s Scarlett, Conor gives an audible sigh of relief.
I never know what I’m going to get with her.
After what happened earlier, I half expected she’d disappear on me again. But here she is, looking soft and sweet and… something else.
I can’t figure out what it is.
Resigned, maybe.
Sad?
I don’t know.
She walks up and grabs me around the waist, pulling me against her.
“Get lost, Conor,” she says.
“Fuck off,” is his reply.
“Conor.”
His gaze snaps to me, and it seems the lad has finally grown some balls.
“Get lost,” I tell him.
He does.
The gym smells of blood and sweat and her perfume, and I’ve got a hard on for it before she even starts tearing at my clothes.
We don’t say a word to each other.
It’s just raw, primal fucking on the floor like the animals we are. Scarlett rides me and then I flip her onto her hands and knees, taking her from behind while I pull on her hair and demand that she takes my cock all night long.
Half of the things coming out of my mouth don’t make any bleeding sense, even to my own ears. But it doesn’t matter.
All that matters is that she knows.
She isn’t getting away from me. She can’t push me away. I won’t fucking let her.
I come inside of her twice before we finally collapse. Naked and panting for breath, and still I can’t let her go. My arm is wrapped around her back, her face resting against my chest.
“You really are a beast in the ring,” she says.
“Did ye ever question that I wasn’t?”
“No.” She smiles up at me. “You’ve got it all, Rory Brodrick. The looks, the charm, the body of a god and the dimples of one too.”
It’s the only compliment she’s ever given me, and the man in me is beating his chest. But I still can’t stop myself from asking.
“What changed? I thought ye were dead set on murdering me earlier.”
“Nothing’s changed,” she says and her voice is too light and I don’t believe her. “Let’s call it a temporary truce. Sometimes, you just need a reminder of how good of a thing you’ve got before it’s gone.”
Her words are a threat, but they sound like a joke. Again, with Scarlett, it’s hard to tell.
“Give me their names,” I insist. “I’ll make it right, baby doll. I’ll bleed them dry and make them suffer for their sins, and when I’m done, you can fuck me into oblivion.”
Her smile is sad this time, haunted.
“You really would,” she says. “Wouldn’t you?”
“I meant what I said. I’ll always go to war for you, Satan.”
“I still hate you, you know,” she says.
I lean down and kiss her, and my cock is ready all over again.
“Then hate me like you mean it, bad girl.”
“You can’t possibly want me again,” she murmurs.
“Try telling him that.” I wrap her hand around my cock.
She gives me what I want.
She gives it to me all night long.
When I wake up, Scarlett is gone from my bed.
And in her place is a note.
Hasta la vista, Baby.
A glance at the clock confirms it’s late. After midnight. And there’s only one thing Scarlett could be doing.
I chuck on some jeans and a tee shirt, not bothering with a shower, and start making the rounds to her usual haunts.
I hit up three different bars before I find her.
The devil in the red dress. All legs and sex. She’s the most beautiful woman
in the room, and she isn’t alone.
She’s trick rolling, again.
That’s my first conclusion.
My second is that I’m about to end it real quick.
But another glimpse at the guy, and something isn’t adding up.
He isn’t dressed like the rich pricks she usually goes after. And there are two empty glasses beside each of them on the bar. They’ve been here for a while, talking and… laughing.
She’s laughing with him.
His eyes flicker over to me, and he leans into her, whispering in her ear. Their body language is too familiar to be new. Something definitely isn’t right.
I stalk towards her. He’s watching, but her back is turned to me. And then she leans in and…
She kisses him.
Thirty-Two
Scarlett
I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go- F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Booker’s really going after it.
His hand is on the back of my head, his lips moving over mine, and he’s kissing me like a man who’s thirsted for it for years.
When I finally pull away, I’m breathless, and anxious, and I still can’t bear witness to the expression on Rory’s face.
I don’t even know if he’s still there.
I don’t know anything, except for this pain inside of me.
“Think he bought it?” I force out.
“Oh, he bought it,” Booker says. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. It’s been a while.”
“Someday you’ll have to tell me who you were really thinking about.”
I try to look happy, but it feels more like a grimace.
Booker rubs the scars on his hand, and it occurs to me exactly who he was thinking about.
Storm?
That’s why he wants to track her down.
I wonder if he knows her.
I cling to this thought because it’s the distraction I need right now. While I commit my final act as this cold-hearted bitch.
“Scarlett.”
Rory’s voice is deep and menacing behind me.
The commitment to this idea is fading in his presence. And I lock onto Booker’s eyes, searching for the resolve I need.
Maybe it would be better if I just let Alexander kill me.
