by Trisha Wolfe
Ethan Quinn is not gentle with me. He doesn’t treat me like a delicate victim who may crack. He gives me exactly what I need, and he doesn’t hold back. And as I meet him there, rocking my hips back into him with every thrust, he releases a harsh curse and pulls me away from the headboard.
It’s the most intoxicating feeling; witnessing Quinn—who’s always in control—lose every bit of his.
He falls across my body, burying himself inside me. His arm hooks under my knee, and he brings my leg up to give him better access to drive as deep as he can—hitting the spot that makes me cry out over and over. I cling to his back, and when his mouth claims mine, his body becomes an unstoppable machine. My muscles gather, binding me with that delicious tension in my belly.
He pulls the tether free and I unfurl, an orgasm tearing through my being and slaying me.
“Jesus—” Quinn releases a string of expletives before his groan follows another long thrust. “You’re fucking killing me…you’re so fucking perfect.” I feel my walls tighten around him just as he grows harder, causing me to clench, and then he sinks his teeth into my neck as his cock pulses deep within me.
I curl my fingers in his hair, my breathing labored. His own hot breaths caress my neck as he settles on top of me. His weight should be uncomfortable—but I crave it. I feel secure beneath him, safe and surrounded by his strength.
But Quinn is ever attentive, and he rolls me on top of him, wrapping his arms around the small of my back. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart, his brisk breathing.
We lie like this for a while, until I’m nearly asleep, his light strokes along my back lulling me into a contented puddle atop him.
“I am in love with you. I should’ve said it before.”
His admission awakens me. Quinn is not the type to give himself to another easily. I feel the depth of his love in the way he holds me. The way he protects me. He doesn’t have to voice it, but I love the sound of his voice as he says the words. I am in love with you. “I’m in love with you.”
He holds me tighter. “No one will ever hurt you again.”
I lift up and prop my chin on his chest. “I’m always safe with you.”
We’re skirting all the things that really need to be said. What will happen when the Alpha is set free. When he fulfills his threat and exposes me; testing my loyalty to Sadie and to Quinn…when all I want is to protect both equally from any pain.
I guess those things are understood. We’ll face them when we face them. But Quinn does ask one question before we allow the night to be our sanctuary once again.
“If it comes down to it—” his eyes stare into mine “—would you really take the blame for Wells?”
I don’t want to think about what I’ll lose when it’s time to own my confession. But I’ll never be able to live with myself if Sadie were punished for committing an act she only carried out to ensure that monster never hurt me or anyone else again.
“I would,” I answer honestly. “Sadie did it for me. I owe her at least that much.”
He accepts my answer with a kiss to my brow. His hand cups the back of my head as he places his lips to my forehead. Then there’s very little talk between us; only the softly uttered avows in the dark as we devote the rest of our energy to touching and tangling, caressing and exploring each other.
Now that Quinn feels confident he’s effectively claimed every inch of me, he spends the remaining hours of the night sealing that claim.
18
Worthy
Quinn
An hour before the morning shift change, I’m inside the walls of the ACPD. I walk the hallways. Chug lukewarm, bitter coffee. Take note of every person.
By the time I reach the tech department, I’m sufficiently caffeinated and clearheaded. I awoke with a groggy sense of purpose this morning. And the harder I tried to ignore it, the more an idea took root, persistent in its hold over my mind.
It might’ve just been the aftereffects of passionate love making—and if ever confronted, I might even cop to that. More than enough good men have been brought down by their dicks. It’s not the best excuse, but it’s a believable one.
Only it’s not the reason for why I pat Tommy on the shoulder and say, “Emily down in homicide said she has that thing ready for you.”
At first, his face draws together in confusion, then he nods assuredly. “Oh, right. That thing. Damn.” He glances around at his station. “I still have ten minutes to go before Rodney’s in. I can’t leave my station unmonitored.”
It’s a well known fact in the tech department that Tommy has it bad for Detective Emily. I don’t know if she has any evidence for him to run or not, but it was worth a shot. Seems he’ll take any morsel she offers him with high hopes. And with just the right push, I can send him running right to her.
“I got this,” I say, smile tight. “I’m not on duty until six.”
He glances around one more time, debating. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“No. Go ahead before she leaves for the morning.”
He’s quick to take me up on my offer after that. Right there. The proof that even the best of men fall victim to their dicks.
Soon as he’s gone, I check the time on my phone. There’s a five minute delay in the security surveillance for the changeover. One small gap in the tech department when the cameras aren’t recording. I discovered it while investigating Avery’s abduction in the lab. And I’m using that blackout period…now.
I settle in behind his desk and pull up to the keyboard. The techs are still running a search on the print the crime lab sent up. Chances are, Price Wells won’t turn up. I doubt he has a record, or is in any database across the country. He was meticulous. He covered himself every step of the way up until his last moments.
I could let it go. Let the print be logged as useless evidence. Fulfilling Wells’ legacy, “UNKNOWN” stamped on the evidence label. But the Alpha didn’t place his print on one of the vics just to torment Avery. He did so with the distinct purpose of keeping her under his thumb; to manipulate her; the threat to expose her ties to Wells always ready to be executed.
I didn’t pull the trigger.
But I can sever the chain of evidence.
I locate the search and, with my hand hovering over the button, hit halt. I breathe through the tightness in my chest as I insert a USB drive and make quick work of erasing the print and replacing it with one I scanned from my department.
Ryland Maddox.
Turns out, Maddox had a few unpaid parking tickets back in college. He was brought in on a warrant back then and printed. He’s also the Alpha’s personal lawyer. The one who wormed his way into Lark and Gannet at the Alpha’s bidding. He orchestrated the auction. He got the two perps who stole the van and kidnapped Avery out on bond, and he may even get them all the way off on that bogus claim with the support of the Alpha behind him. If anyone deserves to be tied to the Alpha Omega criminal network, it’s him. I can live with that.
I once asked myself how far I would go to protect Avery.
I have my answer.
All the way if I have to.
Two partners at Lark and Gannet have proven to be corrupt. Wells and Maddox. There’s a few more that need further investigation. Caleb Mason—who seems to have disappeared—Mike Gannet, and Chase Larkin.
Larkin gets a slight pass for now. I’ll give him credit for stepping up to do the right thing. He helped stop the sell of trafficked sex slaves. I figure ridding Maddox from Larkin’s law firm makes us about square.
But I can’t overlook the fact that all the filth seems to stem from his firm. There’s more to be uncovered there.
When the file transfer is complete, I quickly initiate the search on Maddox’s print. I check the time. One minute to spare. I push away from the desk right as Rodney enters the room.
He gives me a curious look. “Tommy had to meet Emily about something,” I answer his unspoken question.
He nods a few times. “Boy
’s whipped,” he says, then proceeds toward his station.
In the center of his screen, an image flashes, highlighted in bold red. Suspect found.
“Holy shit.” He taps the keyboard. “We got a hit.”
Indeed. A bad parking habit put Maddox in the system. What a way for a dirty lawyer to go down.
I start to head off, then pause. I near Rodney’s station, hoping to sound casual. “Oh, by the way. Could you check on a search I had Carson run?”
Rodney holds up a finger as he puts a call in to Agent Bell on the print. Tension coils my muscles tight. The inked script on my chest flashes before my eyes as if mocking me. I should sear the words from my flesh.
I’ve crossed my own line. I’ve separated myself from law and justice…and at my worst, I have become judge, jury, and executioner.
When he completes his update, Rodney digs through a number of ongoing searches and pulls up the one on A_King. The handle I gave Carson yesterday. “We didn’t get anything…” He clicks through multiple screens. “Right away. This person was buried pretty damn good. But then a ping on a server in Thailand pulled up a traceable connection to Alex King.”
Alex King. A. K.—the initials Avery saw embroidered on her abductor’s tie. A_King—the forum user who questioned Avery about the aphrodisiac.
“Just like that?” I ask.
He ticks his head on a shrug. “I found it odd, too. This person didn’t exist, then he did. When I started digging, it appeared to be an alias. This is the person behind the handle.” He moves aside so I get a clear view of the screen.
The eyes I stared into last night look back at me now. Like a phantom limb, I feel the weight of my gun in my hand, my finger squeezing the trigger, as I look at the Alpha.
“Dorian McGregor,” Rodney says. “Who doesn’t have a rap sheet. Clean. No criminal history. But all his aliases…”
“Rap sheets longer than Santa’s naughty list,” I say.
Rodney laughs. “You could say that. He’s one busy man on the darknet, that’s for sure.”
“Thanks, Rodney. I appreciate you guys looking into this.”
I leave the tech department. That settles it, then. By all appearances, Dorian McGregor is the head of a crime ring operating under the guise of the Alpha Omega network. All corners match up. All angles align. It’s clean, it’s simple, it’s a closed case.
Except for the burning suspicion in my gut.
The Feds wanted this wrapped up neat and tidy. And it is. About the time the Feds were tracing the Alpha’s signal, the tech report pinging Alex King was timestamped, linking him to Dorian McGregor.
Just like the auction bust that went down without a hitch last night, the revealing evidence became available all at once on Dorian McGregor. Convenient.
Bell mentioned a protected source gave the FBI the tip on the auction—but who? Who wanted the Feds to find that warehouse? Who wanted us to trace Alex King to Dorian McGregor?
The floor beneath my feet seems to open up underneath me, and soon the sensation of falling is pulling at all corners of my mind. None of us planned anything. Our whole operation was a setup from the start.
I pick up my pace as I head toward my office. A yellow package wedged between my door stops me short, and I yank it free. I get inside my office before I unseal the top and open the folder inside.
Completed reports. For our whole team.
Carson, Sadie, me—all our reports on the events of last night have been completed for us, typed and printed. They document our cooperation with the Feds to pursue a lead given to the FBI on a human trafficking auction in Arlington.
Son of a bitch.
The whole time, I thought I was diverting the Feds. But the bastards were redirecting me.
I move to my door window and open the blinds. Outside my office, officers and Feds work in unison. A whir of activity fills the floor. Everyone operating together to tie up the loose ends on the case.
It may look like cooperation—but it’s the calm center of the storm. I feel it charging the air. An energy buzzing with warning.
Somewhere amid the organized chaos, a suspect hides.
In plain fucking sight.
I’m out of my office and barreling toward the exit, phone pressed to my ear. Waiting with my heart in my throat to hear Avery’s voice.
Avery.
19
Empire
Alpha
Enemies.
Most people have at least one.
I have countless.
Enemies come in all forms. The obvious backstabber who invades your territory and deems to overthrow your empire. The smiling friend—the snake—who secretly strategizes your demise with the intent to acquire your empire.
Those are the most recognizable.
The ones you see coming.
Then, there are the enemies that are a little harder to spot. You’re not quite sure if they’re legitimate or not. Whether they intend you harm, or may indeed be an asset.
The logic is simple, however, on how to handle enemies of all shapes and sizes. Even those skeptical ones—because they’re the most dangerous of all.
Eliminate them.
The turf stealer, who thought it a wise business decision to use my empire as their own springboard, is given a tip about a shipment of “merchandise” arriving at a certain location, at a certain time.
Let your enemy steal your merchandise.
Let your enemy use your connections to organize an auction. Of course, make sure that all the groundwork is laid in preparation. Prearrange the auction, scout the venue. Give him the fucking keys to the kingdom.
The backstabber was easy. Dorian took the merchandise and the venue without too much coercion. Greed always trumps caution.
The snakes… They’re a little more difficult. But Lark and Gannet provided stellar resources to vet the buyers for Dorian’s auction.
One judge who decided he no longer felt obligated to return my favors. One CEO who uploaded a worm to one of my accounts to filter small increments of my money into one of his banks in the Caymans. And eight other snakes that were skimming off the top of my transactions.
They’ve been sitting on my shit-list for a while.
In one fell swoop, the Feds provided the perfect opportunity to wipe them all out.
Of course, it wasn’t all me—I’d be remiss if I didn’t give credit where credit’s due. The ACPD did a phenomenal job of helping to lead the Feds exactly where I wanted.
The Alpha is just a myth again. A moniker for indulgent criminal entrepreneurs to use to stake their claim in the market. The FBI Criminal Network Division appreciates the power of a name—they use it to track down leads.
And they did.
As predicted.
I stub my cigarette out in the ashtray and check the time. “Have they all arrived?”
Donovan flips on the tablet and confirms. “Twenty-six chips activated. It’s a full house.”
“I shouldn’t keep my guests waiting, then.”
Sure, I lost a large amount of revenue and a quarter of my merchandise. But some losses are expected when aiming toward long-term growth in an industry. I also vanquished a number of enemies and will soon acquire a new asset.
Doctor Avery Johnson doesn’t know it yet—but she’s a very valuable asset.
We do not halt progress; we embrace it. We keep moving forward in evolution to produce a bigger, better, superior product. Her talents shouldn’t be squandered on the dead. Such a gift should be shared with the living.
Avery needs to be shown just how important she is to me.
Soon.
Very soon.
I stand at the curtain and don my mask. I step through to the stage. Larkin assumed too much; did he believe I’d ever let a narcissistic lawyer run my show?
I snap my fingers, and Donovan brings out the first of the merchandise. She’s lovely. Her hair brushed to a high sheen, accentuating her natural color. Her skin polished to a rosy porcelain. No trashy
bag over her head; she steps onto the stage adorned in elegant, jeweled lingerie, and draped in a sheer, flowing wrap.
She’s a genie freed from her bottle. And her new Master will pay a fortune to capture her.
“Sirs, allow me to demonstrate the real reason you’re here today.” I lift my chin. “Can I have a volunteer?”
I have Donovan escort one of the eager men from the front row onstage. “Excellent.” I prep the syringe, and the man flinches. “Don’t worry. This isn’t for you.”
My lovely creature has been tested twice. She doesn’t even fight when I place the needle to her arm. No, I rather think she enjoys it. The drug strips her of all inhibition, leaving behind the raw truth of her. The whore in her purest form.
As soon as the Trifecta hits her system, she comes to life, an animated doll. I’ve given her a larger dose this time so she’ll wow our investors. And she does. She climbs the man on stage, pawing at his suit and tearing at her lingerie.
A wave of silent awe hushes the crowd as they watch, enraptured, as she pleads for gratification. She whines and grinds against the man until he’s forced to throw her over the table and fuck her.
I wait patiently for him to get his fill. When he does, zipping up his pants, she kneels before him and begs to suck his cock. “I’ll take her,” he says, and a light peal of laughter erupts around the room. “One million.”
I smile. “Do I have any other bids?”
Hands slap down on the chair buttons, an angelic chorus to my ears.
It was an insult to think I would ever allow my girls and my Trifecta to go for anything less than a million. That should’ve tipped them all off that the auction was a farce. Those bottom feeders could never afford the luxury I’m offering the world.
But what do any of them know of luxury? Of dreams?
Before you can achieve your goals, you must first be daring enough to dream them.
That is the legacy of my empire.
And no one, no one stands in my way.
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