by HELEN HARDT
“I’m sorry for breaking your confidence about the club,” Joe said quietly. “You can tell the whole world I used to be a member there if you want to. I don’t give a shit if people know what kind of sex I like. But I’m beginning to think Bryce is right.” He moved to the side of Booker and then quickly drew Rosie out of his ankle holster. Then he looked around the office. “What kind of work do you do here, Cade, that you have to have your office swept for bugs daily?”
Booker opened his mouth but said nothing.
“I know you’re armed,” Joe went on, “but you can’t take us both out at once. You try anything, you’ll end up dead. So tell us what we want to know. Who the fuck is the Spider?”
“I told you. Go ahead and kill me. I’ve been dead for thirty years anyway.”
“I thought you were a friend, Cade, and I trusted you—but when it comes down to you and Bryce, he’ll win every time. Throw my mother and sister into the mix? It’s no contest.”
“I told you to kill me. Give it your best shot.”
“Hold on, Joe,” I said. “No one wants to die that badly. He’s up to something.”
Booker chuckled. “You’d better hope you’re a good shot.”
“The best,” I said. “I learned from my psycho father. You want to try to take me on?”
“I learned from the best as well,” Booker said. “And you seem a little psycho yourself from where I’m standing.”
Rage welled inside me. “I’ll hand it to you. You thought of exactly the right thing to say to piss me off even more.” I cocked my gun. “I’m serious. Dead serious. You think I’m anything like my father? Even a little? Then you should be scared shitless right now.”
My words produced a tiny—but still visible—shudder across Booker’s body. I looked sideways at Joe. Yeah, he had noticed too.
“Hate to tell you this, Cade,” Joe said, “but Tom Simpson taught me how to shoot as well. We’re both crack shots, and fast as spit.”
“I was trained by the FBI, in case you forgot,” Booker said.
“Didn’t forget,” Joe said, “but Bryce and I have been handling guns since we were seven years old. I’d bet we’re both more experienced than you.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet.”
“Shut up and stand still.” Joe walked toward Booker and frisked him. “Just as I thought. Two. Take off your shirt.”
“Joe—”
“Now.”
Booker removed his button-down, revealing a shoulder holster and pistol. Joe took the gun and slid it across the floor. Then he took the other weapon from Booker’s ankle holster.
“Did you check his crotch?” I asked.
“I’d rather not.”
“Do it. Or I will.”
Unsurprisingly, he had a Beretta Pico hidden there. Joe relieved him of it quickly.
“Who the hell arms himself with three guns?” I said. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I think we’re about to find out,” Joe said. “You’re not leaving this office, Cade, until we know everything you do.”
“You think you two and your weapons scare me? Nothing scares me anymore.”
“You’re in good company, then,” I said. “Joe and I have seen just about everything in this fucked-up world there is to see. You sure as hell don’t scare us.”
“Maybe I should.”
“With three guns?” Joe said. “Maybe, if we’re having a bad day. Unarmed, you’re nothing, Cade. Not a fucking thing.”
“You’d be wise not to underestimate me,” Booker said. “Psycho Daddy might have taught you how to shoot like a pro, but you’re forgetting who taught me how to shoot.”
“The FBI?” I said. “I’d match Joe’s and my skills against any rank-and-file agent any day.”
Booker moved stealthily, easing his way around his desk. Joe and I moved as he did, staying the same distance from him.
“Hold still,” Joe said, “or one of us will blow your big head off.”
He smiled. The motherfucker smiled!
Joe’s countenance remained stern. He wouldn’t show weakness or worry, so neither would I.
Joe’s firearm was aimed at Booker’s head, so I lowered mine…aiming it at his crotch. “Whatever you think you’re doing, stop it, unless you want to be dickless literally as well as figuratively.”
“Bingo,” he said, pushing his hand down.
“Wha—”
A white spray whooshed toward my chest.
I inhaled instinctively, arrows of flame hitting my mouth and throat. And my eyes. Blur. Blindness. Tears.
I gasped and choked. “Joe!”
But the word sounded only like a gasp.
I was vaguely aware of Joe beside me doubling over, coughing as well.
“Fuck! Damn!”
Again, the words were only gasps.
I was dying. I had to be dying. What the hell had he done?
My eyes and nose were on fire, and my throat full of acidic phlegm.
The blurred images disappeared into nothingness.
I was blind.
Choking, on fire, and blind.
Chapter Eight
Marjorie
If I’d been having any nice feelings toward Dominic, his last statement erased them. “Nice try. My father is dead. I watched him die with my own eyes.”
“I didn’t say your father was alive,” he said.
“Last time I checked, dead people don’t give orders, and I personally don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Your father was a client of ours for years,” Dominic said. “He put plans in place to make sure his family was protected.”
“Even if I believed you, which I don’t, that would explain taking my mother and me, but not Colin. Besides, my father would never have us taken against our will. He wouldn’t frighten us like that, especially not my mother. She’s mentally ill, for God’s sake.”
“I never knew your father,” Dominic said, “but I did know he was alive during the time you thought he was dead. There were few he trusted with that information.”
His words hit me in the gut. My father clearly hadn’t trusted me with that information. Or any of my brothers. He’d faked his death once we were all adults so he could care for our mother, who also, unbeknownst to us, was alive.
His reasoning had been simple. Our mother was not safe from Wendy Madigan, and as long as Wendy knew he was alive, she’d stop at nothing to torment him, using anything that made him vulnerable.
Our mother.
And all of us.
My father was dead.
Wasn’t he?
Dominic hadn’t said otherwise. But he hadn’t said he was alive, either.
I had to stop torturing myself. The man was dead. I’d seen Wendy Madigan kill him so they could be together. I’d seen him double over. I’d seen the blood trickle from his wound. I’d fallen atop his immobile body, felt the life seep out of him…
Wendy had nearly killed Ryan as well, until Ruby shot her first.
That day was forever etched into my mind.
The scar on my thigh itched, and not in a good way. Not in a healing way.
No, it itched to be opened.
If I’d had my blade at this very moment, I’d be cutting my flesh to relieve the emotional torture swirling through me.
My father had so many facets that I’d never understand.
He was a man who could orchestrate his own death, purchase an island in the Caribbean. Hide himself and his mentally ill wife from the world.
From his children.
I forced myself out of my own head.
“You still haven’t explained Colin,” I said. “Why would my father care about protecting him?”
“We aren’t given the reasons,” Dominic said.
“So you’re okay with taking people against their will? Without knowing why?”
“We know simply that it’s for your protection. That’s enough for us.”
“That, and the money,” Dave added.
&nbs
p; “Zip it, Dave,” Alex said.
“Hey, you two might not need the money, but I do.”
“For God’s sake,” I said. “Tell us what Colin has to do—”
Dominic looked at his phone. “Food’s here. Get it, will you, Dave?”
Dave feigned a bow and left the room.
My stomach gurgled as if on cue. How could I possibly be hungry with everything else going on? But I was.
Then it dawned on me. How long had I been gone? What time was it? Hell, what day was it?
“Are you going to let them eat at the table with us?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know. Can you behave yourselves?” Dominic eyed me.
“I won’t make any promises I can’t keep,” I said.
“I knew you were a spitfire when I first laid eyes on you,” Dominic said. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you absolutely intoxicating.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Can you think with your big head, Dom? God. Every time there’s a pretty girl involved…”
Alex’s words struck me. I’d been going about this all wrong. I’d been fighting back the way I fought with my brothers—showing my strength and equality. Dominic’s words creeped me out to the point I wanted to barf, but I needed to look at the bigger picture. He was attracted to me. I could take advantage of that.
Though God only knew what I looked like at the moment.
But I had to try.
My mind was still a little fuzzy. Had I told him about Bryce?
Shit. Yeah, I had.
I could still flirt. The only problem? I wasn’t a great actress, and right now I hated the son of a bitch. He hadn’t convinced me that any of this was for my mother’s or my own good. My brothers and Bryce would protect us both with their lives if they had to. And what about Colin? Why was he even here?
“We’ll behave,” I said sweetly. But not too sweetly. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion. “What day is it, anyway? I don’t know the last time I ate.”
“It’s still the same day,” Dominic said. “Nearing evening.”
Okay. I’d only missed lunch, then.
Colin finally spoke. “Why exactly am I here? I didn’t even know Marj’s dad.”
“Like I said,” Dominic said. “We just do as we’re told. I’m going to untie your hands, both of you, and your feet, Colin. We’ll eat at the table in the kitchen. Don’t try to run away. You won’t get far.”
Stop threatening us.
The words hovered on the end of my tongue. I kept them inside. They wouldn’t help my new plan of flirting with Dominic.
I wasn’t a flirt by nature. I was anything but a girly girl. But I had to try. Nothing else was working.
“What are we having to eat?” I asked.
“Pizza,” Alex said dryly.
“Pizza?” I said. “You’re a personal trainer, Dominic.”
“And I can’t eat gluten,” Colin added.
“Then you’ll go hungry, won’t you?” Alex said, untying Colin’s ankles, and not gently.
“Just eat the toppings, Colin,” I said.
Dominic hadn’t responded to my personal training comment. I tried again.
“Don’t tell me you regularly eat pizza,” I said to him. “Not with that body.”
“Stop trying to suck up.” Alex yanked me off the couch.
“Who’s sucking up? Your brother’s ripped. So are you.” No lie there. Alex’s muscles put some men I knew to shame. Not my brothers, though. And certainly not Bryce.
I looked over at Colin. He’d been a good-looking man with a great physique once. Tom Simpson had stolen all of that from him. Now he was thin and scarred. A shadow of his former self.
“Just come on. You too.” She yanked Colin up by the arm.
“You’re pretty rough with us for someone who’s supposedly doing this to protect us,” I couldn’t help saying.
So much for trying to be nicer, though Dominic, not Alex, was my target.
“I can get rougher,” she said. “Come on. The food’s waiting.”
I was no shrinking violet, but Alex had muscles on her muscles. She could most likely take me, especially since I wasn’t at full capacity. I smiled—sort of—and followed her to the kitchen.
Dominic and Dave were already at the table.
“Help yourselves,” Dominic said. “There’s only water to drink. Sorry.”
“Water is the best way to hydrate,” I said sweetly. Sort of. “As a trainer, you should know that.”
“It is, except when extra electrolytes are necessary,” he said. “You two should be fine with plain water, though.”
“How did you get us here?” I asked. “My head doesn’t hurt, so you couldn’t have knocked me unconscious.”
“A small injection in your neck,” he said.
I trailed my fingers to my neck, feeling around. Sure enough, there was a tiny area of irritation. “You drugged us.”
“Very safely,” he said.
Again, I held back the words I wanted to spew at him. “What if one of us had had an allergy?”
“Unlikely,” he said.
I inhaled. The pizza smelled good to me, and my stomach growled again.
Dominic chuckled. “Go on. I can tell you’re hungry.”
“I need a fork,” Colin said. “I can’t eat the crust.”
Alex with the eye roll again. She opened a drawer and shoved a fork at Colin.
He grunted a thank-you.
I took a bite of pizza and nearly swallowed it whole. Run-of-the-mill pizza wasn’t really my thing. When I made pizza, I did it with style and panache—prosciutto and provolone, or kalamata olives and goat cheese. But damn, regular old pizza—pepperoni and mozzarella—was totally hitting the spot.
I had downed one piece and half of another before I spoke again. “Why is it unlikely that we’d have an allergic reaction to whatever you stuck us with?”
“Because we’re given detailed information on everyone we deal with.”
“Deal with? Is that your nice way of saying ‘kidnap’?”
So much for my flirting idea.
Dominic cleared his throat. “We’re given detailed information, and neither of you had any drug allergies listed.”
“Was Colin’s gluten allergy listed?” I asked sarcastically.
Colin looked up. “It’s not an actual allergy, and I don’t have celiac disease, to my knowledge. I just can’t eat it. Not since…”
“Tom?” I asked.
He nodded, looking down at the naked pizza crust on his plate. He’d eaten the toppings, as I’d suggested.
He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t press it. I guessed he’d probably had only stale bread or something like that to eat, and now it didn’t agree with him. Or maybe it was psychological. That was more likely.
Whatever it was, even the toppings didn’t agree with him.
Colin retched, turning his head. At least he hit the floor instead of the table.
Chapter Nine
Bryce
Dying.
Clearly, I was dying.
Tears poured from my eyes, and vision eluded me.
My sweet little son.
My mother.
Marjorie. Precious Marjorie.
I’d never see any of their faces again.
“Got you,” a gruff voice said.
I was moving now, lying down and moving. Still coughing, choking, gasping.
Joe? Where was Joe?
Somehow I’d always known we’d die together. It was no less than we deserved for unwillingly letting a friend die and keeping a dirty secret for my father.
I deserved this…
I deserved death…
“Pepper spray,” the blur in white said to me.
“Pepper spray?” I rasped out. But all that actually came out was a choking gasp.
“Don’t try to talk, Mr. Simpson,” the same voice said. “It’ll take another hour or so for the effects to wear off, but nothing will be permanent. Your vision and voice wi
ll be normal again.”
Pepper spray? That bastard attacked us with pepper spray?
Who the hell armed himself with three weapons and rigged his desk with streams of pepper spray? What other booby traps did he have hidden?
“Joe?” I said.
But it sounded like another gasp.
“Please,” the man said.
Was he a doctor? A nurse? I had no idea.
I didn’t care. Relief swept through me at the knowledge I’d recover. Pepper spray was considered innocuous. Didn’t feel very innocuous at the moment.
Talon had been tased once. I remembered him telling his brothers and me about it. He’d been immobile, frightened, nearly lost control of his bladder and bowels.
I hadn’t been tased, but I could relate. The sensation of not being able to breathe was something I didn’t want to experience again anytime soon.
“Mr. Steel is in the next room,” the person said. “He’s recovering as well.”
The bastard had gotten both of us. How many streams had he released? It probably didn’t matter. One was probably enough to incapacitate us both.
We’d disarmed him.
He’d bested us anyway.
Who the hell was Cade Booker?
An ex-FBI agent.
An attorney in Grand Junction.
A man who was into BDSM.
Interesting, to say the least, but none were reasons to be so heavily armed.
Joe knew him, had trusted him. I trusted Joe. But I’d seen something dark in Cade Booker, something Joe hadn’t seen. Maybe because everyone at a leather club exhibited a little darkness.
I tried to speak once more, but instead of words, gasps emerged.
“Rest, please, Mr. Simpson,” the white blur said once more. “I’ve given you a mild sedative. When you wake up, you’ll feel much better.”
I jolted awake.
Where was I?
Panic set in. I opened—
Shit! My eyes wouldn’t open. Damn it! They’d said my vision would return! Frantically I felt around for a call button. I found something at the side of the bed and pushed frantically.
Voices broke into my thoughts.
A television. I’d turned on a television. Quickly I moved my hand over the control, pressing every button. The voices became wretchedly loud.
