Red (Love in Color Series Book 1)

by SM West

  “Stay,” he says with a low rumble to his voice.

  Being this close to him, this man I’m hungry for, makes it hard to breathe or think straight. The drumming of my beating heart is all I can hear. We’ve flirted around this attraction for months now, yet this feels different, loaded with intent, need and desire.

  His thumb gently traces my bottom lip, mindful to skim over the bite. With a sharp intake of air, my tummy flutters at his gesture.

  “How did a motherfucker like Thornton end up with you?” he whispers.

  I tense. His thumb stops skimming my lip. Arching his brow, he waits for me to make a move. I don’t want to think about Bobby. I’d rather focus on him. His velvety, low voice. His enthralling scent. His sensual touch. I shouldn’t. I can’t do this. There’s too much at stake.

  We’re standing inches apart, our chests heaving. A prickly, needy energy inundates my body, senses and mind. With all my will, I break the taut, pulsating tether joining us. Hastily retreating into the living room, I struggle to gather the rampant thoughts swirling around in my head. Fighting my want for him, my burning red desire, is almost harder than the years I’ve endured at Bobby’s hands

  Ry doesn’t immediately follow. Perhaps, like me, he needs time to gather his wits. He eventually joins me on the couch, leaving a cushion between us. We awkwardly strive to fill the silence with stilted chatter, the building tension is suffocating.

  Boldly, I venture into personal territory. If I can’t have him physically perhaps understanding or knowing him personally will quench my unending need.

  “So, tell me more about Rylan Wolfe,” I ask. Real original, Tate.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What are your parents like? Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Oh, you want to know those kinds of things.” With a sigh of relief, I relax, sinking further into the cushion at his tease. “Well, my mother, Siobhan and sister, Carys, live in New York. We own a bar. Ma runs it, but she’s slowly handing it over to my sister. Carys has a business degree. She’s the brains of the family.”

  His sister’s name causes me to pause. It’s unusual. I’ve only ever heard it once before, from Griffin. It’s the name of his best friend. Surely, she couldn’t be the same person? New York is a city of millions. I’m sure there are hundreds of girls in New York with that name. Quickly dismissing the ludicrous thought, I press for more.

  “You’re Irish?”

  “You caught that, huh? What gave it away?” he mocks, chuckling. “Yes, both my parents came from Ireland when they were children.”

  “Any brothers?”

  “Yes, but not biological. I’ve got two best friends that are like brothers. I’ve known them most of my life. Van’s parents and mine have known each other forever. We were born just months apart and raised together. He truly is like my brother.” His thoughtful tone suggests a deep bond with Van, yet also something else, almost disappointment.

  “Van?”

  “Evan. And my other brother, Tripp…well, I’ve known him since I was four or five. Anyway, Van’s parents used to own the bar with my parents.” His switch was deliberate, almost like he didn’t want to talk about Tripp. Not wanting to push, I keep going.

  “Used to? They don’t anymore? And what about your father?”

  His eyes dim, his shoulders folding in. His grin’s faded, replaced by a thin line, tight, almost to the point of painful.

  “Ah, my dad and Van’s parents were killed. They were murdered in a drive-by shooting when I was eleven. We took Van in. At first, it looked like custody was going to be difficult and lengthy, but we got lucky.”

  Silence. My heart aches for him. For the little boy who lost his father at such a young age and in a violent way. Losing a parent is hard.

  “Ry…”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he interjects. “It was a long time ago and I miss him every day. It’s in the past.”

  “I was going to ask if they ever caught who did it?” His eyes stare deeply into mine as he shakes his head.

  “No one was ever arrested. It was the mob, that’s all we know. A botched hit. They got the bar name wrong. It was a bloody mistake that shattered seven lives,” he states matter-of-factly. “That’s why taking down Bobby and Warren are very important to me.”

  The proverbial door opens. He’s letting me in. I’m eager to take this step yet anxious, unable to ignore the unease in my gut. Is this a good thing or my downfall? Truthfully, it doesn’t matter, I can’t resist walking through. I dare not walk away from getting to know him better.

  “I get it. Can I ask a stupid question?” His interest is piqued as his brows arch, his somber look is gone. “Why Bobby and my father? They aren’t the biggest crime lords in the city.”

  “They aren’t, though they’re connected. They’ve got access to the bigger outfits and more importantly, they’re a weak link. Because they’re smaller, they’re eager to grow their business. That was our way in, to get closer. Just look at your mother’s party and who showed up. Talk about an FBI organized crime orgasm.”

  Our laughter comes easily at that. And I can’t resist the opportunity to tease. “So, that’s what gets your rocks off. Good to know.”

  “Darling, you know what gets me off,” he flirts. His eyes darkening at the intimation.

  I squirm in my seat at his innuendo. Time to change the subject. We’ve venturing down this forbidden path of lust. With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I ask if he’s going home. Silly me, of course, he isn’t. He’s undercover.

  Again, trying to steer the conversation to lighter, tamer things, I ask about Coop. He shares how they met at the Academy. How they hit it off instantly and have been working together ever since. From the way he lights up, easily smiles, I can tell Coop is family.

  ***

  A SMALL BUZZING CAUSES ME to open my eyes. Something’s vibrating. Disorientated, I notice the TV and coffee table straight ahead. The safe house. The buzzing continues. It’s a phone. It’s then I notice the hard, warm denim surface on which my cheek’s perched. Ry’s thigh.

  My head’s resting on his leg like a pillow with one of his hands anchoring my hip. I tense, holding my breath for a moment. As much as this should feel wrong, it feels all kinds of right. Unsure as to when I fell asleep or how I got into this position, I sheepishly raise my head. Looking at Ry through the fan of my eyelashes, I notice one side of his mouth turns up. He’s texting.

  “Hey,” he says low and gravelly, his attention still on his phone.

  “Hey,” I whisper, my voice groggy.

  Pushing myself up, I sit and attempt to finger comb my unruly locks. I must be one fine mess.

  “I should go. I need an excuse for being out so late. I’m supposed to have just gone out for food,” I ramble, my nerves kicking into overdrive.

  On top of waking up practically on top of him, I also have to answer to Bobby. Shit, what plausible excuse could I possibly have? Was I with Julia? No, that would create another set of problems. She’d grill me, wanting to know where I was, who with and why she was covering for me. I can’t say, my parents, they’re loyal to Bobby. Ry cuts through my thoughts.

  “He’s just checked into a hotel in Jersey with two strippers.”

  “Good,” I say with a sigh of relief. “I really should go; I don’t know where Anthony is. He’ll know I’m not home.”

  “You don’t have to worry about Anthony. Mr. Somerset created a little distraction for him tonight. He’s not outside your penthouse,” Ry smirks.

  “Really?” he nods.

  Relief sets in. I guess that explains why Bobby’s still in New Jersey. In addition to having my car checked weekly for tracking devices, which they move onto a decoy car when needed, the FBI also clones my phone. I imagine right now it looks like I’m at home. If Bobby thought I wasn’t, he’d be tearing New York apart looking for me.

  “Do I even want to know?”

  “Nah, the less you know, the better.
We should get you home. He’s going to be free soon and he’ll likely go back to his post.”

  Ry stands, his hand outstretched, waiting for mine. Pretending to not notice his gesture, I lower my gaze to my lap and lamely brush non-existent lint off my pants.

  Unfazed by my snub, or at least acting like he’s unperturbed, he says, “Bobby’s flight leaves early tomorrow and he’s gone for ten days. I’ll talk with Noel about our next meet.”

  “Okay.” Without looking back, I grab my things and slip out the door. Ry remains silent, watching me leave.

  On the way home, my thoughts are consumed with Ry and our intense draw. It feels more than physical, although that’s strong and overwhelming on its own. It took everything in me to fight the awakened passion within me. This case is already personal enough, I must stick to the plan and leave all fantasies of Rylan Wolfe where they belong, in my dreams.

  I’M A FUCKING IDIOT. EIGHT weeks of hell, flirting with boundaries, but keeping us firmly planted in harmless territory, then I almost kiss her, again. With Tate that close to me, her tempting scent, her silky skin and those voluminous green eyes so open to me, it was a herculean effort to keep it together. My mind was overrun by a vermillion tidal wave of passion. All I could think was; seize, capture, conquer. Shit.

  And now, like a junkie looking for my next fix, I feverishly rack my brain for a plausible excuse to see her again, soon. There’s really no reason to. In fact, with Bobby away, she likely won’t have any updates. But fuck reason.

  We talked for hours. While I did most of it, not something I readily do, she was relaxed. We laughed. Connected. She even opened up about Thornton. I’ve wanted to know more about their situation. I’ve been waiting for the right time. Tonight, I asked, needing to know how she got in bed, both figuratively and literally, with that motherfucker.

  Some twisted part of me needed to know, if, at any point, she’d wanted to be with him. If marrying Bobby had been her choice? Perhaps, after the reality of him, she decided to get out?

  Was I looking for something to break our undeniable bond? As if knowing she was into him, at some point, I’d walk away? Fat chance. Although the thought of her wanting Thornton makes me sick. To my relief, and no surprise, he was not her choice. At first, she was hesitant, yet given I’d shared, she slowly opened up.

  “I was sixteen when my parents arranged a date with Bobby. It didn’t go well.”

  Fidgeting in her seat, she nervously laces and unlaces her fingers, repeatedly. She doesn’t elaborate nor does she need to. I can guess what happened. Any imagined scenario leaves me wanting Thornton’s head on a platter.

  “I thought that was it. I hoped I’d never see him again. I’d almost forgotten about him until he showed up at a graduation party two years later. I didn’t know he was there until he cornered me in one of the bedrooms. Luckily, Max saw Bobby arrive. Max saved me from being…attacked,” she whispers low. I almost miss it.

  A distant, troubled expression shrouds her features. She’s back in that moment. It’s written all over her face. Taking her slender hand, my thumb soothingly runs back and forth on the soft skin on the underside of her wrist, coaxing her back from the darkness. With my touch, her expression relaxes, giving her strength to continue or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part.

  “I was going to the Art Institute of Chicago in the fall. I left New York right after high school graduation. I thought if I left the state, I’d be safe. I sometimes wonder if I’d given in, perhaps he’d have gotten bored and moved on.”

  “Why’d you say that?”

  “I used to think it was the challenge that kept him interested. I said no to him. Maybe if I hadn’t, he’d have got me out of his system and moved on. Instead, I became an obsession. In Chicago, I was lulled into a false sense of security. I’d deliberately stayed away from New York. Not wanting to see my parents or risk running into him. I’d just gotten my BFA – all those years and nothing from Bobby - and I was enrolled in my masters when he blew up my life. Without any sign, he dragged me back to New York.”

  She doesn’t mention Griffin. The urge to ask is strong, but the haunted look in her eyes discourages me. She doesn’t know about my connection to him. I’m not really sure how she’d take it.

  “Once back in New York, gone were my dreams…” her words are hesitant, stalling, moving around the pieces of truth in order to not mention Griffin. “…of finishing my masters. I was married to him within two months and under constant surveillance ever since. I never wanted to marry Bobby. I had no choice. And every day I’m with him, my need to get away from him grows. That’s why I’m doing this. I’ll never be free of him unless one of us is dead.”

  “Or he goes to jail,” I add. She smiles ruefully. An indiscernible look flashes across her face, unsettling although I’m not exactly sure what it means. I file it away for later contemplation.

  “Yes, or jail.”

  ***

  IT’S BEEN TWO DAYS SINCE I last saw her. My only connection is updates from Noel and Murphy. I want to see her. I shouldn’t. It’s better this way. Distance and time is what I need. A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

  Without waiting for a response, Patrick Townsend, or Tripp as I know him, walks in. My best friend, a fellow agent and the last person I expect to see. His dark blond hair, usually cut short, is longer, falling below his ears and disheveled. His light blue eyes are troubled. Our eyes lock with a deep intensity. I know why he’s here.

  “We have to talk.” He’s all business, anxiously walking past me. He pours two fingers of scotch and downs the amber liquid in one gulp.

  “Hey, easy. Calm down, man.”

  “Listen, we need to talk,” he repeats.

  “I get that. Talk.” It’s hard not to get my back up. His sharp tone attests to his anxiety. I’m sympathetic but also ticked, he shouldn’t be here and he knows it.

  “Ry, what’s fucking taking so long? It’s been nearly two years on these assholes,” he growls.

  “You know I can’t tell you much.” Placing my hand on his shoulder, I firmly squeeze, letting him know I understand.

  “Don’t give me that bullshit.” Tripp’s like my brother. I’ve known him most of my life. Together with Van, we were the three musketeers. He’s in a world of pain and I want to help him.

  “We’re close, real close. I’m in with Thornton and Conrad. You know these things take time.”

  “Man, you’ve known me a long time…” he starts, I interject before he begins with this garbage.

  “Yeah and that’s why I don’t want you to fuck up your career.”

  “And Tate? Is she dragging her ass? Getting cold feet?”

  I don’t like his venomous tone or him directing it at her.

  “No. She’s doing her part,” I snarl.

  See, this is the thing about brothers. We are so close we’d die for the other yet when we’re at odds, neither of us will back down. Tripp’s glare meets mine, practically drilling into my thoughts. He’s pissed. He wants information and results. I get it.

  “Is she committed to this? Can we trust her?” With his back to me, I’m unable to read his face. His tone and ramrod back tell me that she is the real reason he is here.

  “Yes. Didn’t you talk to Coop? He’d tell you the same thing I’m saying. She’s more committed to this than any of us,” I assert, pouring some scotch and taking a sip. “Tripp, you could’ve called. Showing up like this, not cool. Besides, last I heard, you’re working with Coop in LA.”

  “Yeah. I had a few days off and needed to see you, face to face.”

  His words insinuate I’d lie to him. It cuts deep. Never. I’m trying to protect as much as help him. He can’t be near this case because of his job, it’s a conflict of interest. And because the case could get thrown out if his presence ever came to light during a trial. Shit, even still, I want to help him.

  “Do you want to talk to her? It might actually help to meet her.”

  Why am I even sugge
sting this? As soon as I say it, I know it’s a bad idea. Tate has helped me with losing Griff, even though she doesn’t know it. I can’t be sure if it’ll help him.

  “Fuck, no,” he clips. Fear lurks in his unsettled eyes. “I’m not sure I could stomach that.”

  “What? Why’d you say that? You blame her?” my tone is sharper than intended.

  “Fuck yeah. Every. Fucking. Day. And those two motherfuckers,” he shouts.

  “You’ve got to lose this shit, man. She was as much a target as Griff.”

  My rage surprises me. He is my best friend, my brother. His pain is evident and understandable. Still, using Tate as a punching bag is unacceptable. No one treats her like that. Not if I have anything to say about it.

  “Really, then why the fuck is she still breathing?” he yells.

  “Stop. Ease up,” I say steadily, clamping my hand on his shoulder. Calming him down is my priority.

  “She meant a lot to Griff. He meant a lot to her,” I add. Slowly he matches my calmer breathing, his gaze softens.

  “Damn, I know,” he hangs his head. “What a shitty thing to say. Griff would have my balls.”

  Both of us freeze. If only he were here. Alive. A shared, daily wish. If only.

  “You didn’t mean it.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he says ruefully says. “Fine, let’s meet. I’m here for a few more days.”

  “We’ll make it work. First, I’ve got to tell her I know Griffin. I’ve no clue how that’ll go over,” I smirk.

  “Ah, you’ll work the charm. You always do. You’ve got the ladies eating out of your hand.”

  And just like that, everything’s all good with us.

  “Not this one. She’s different.”

  “Fuck,” he barks, staring intently at me. “Not you too?”

  “What?”

  “You sound like Griff. Never met the woman, but the way he talked about her. He made her sound special or something.”

  Being reminded of Griff’s relationship with Tate, knowing they were together for two years, pisses me off. I don’t do jealousy. This strangely and frustratingly feels just like it. And the real kicker of all this? Jealousy consumes me even though the poor guy is six feet under.