by Sidney Bell
“Not curiosity.” He sighed. “Not only curiosity. Coop came to see me earlier this week.”
A jolt of nervousness hit Embry in the gut. “Did he threaten you?” He didn’t know what to think about that. He was angry at Brogan, viciously angry, and yes, a part of him felt injured, but none of that kept him from being concerned at the idea of Ernest Cooper bringing this fight to Brogan’s doorstep. Maybe that made him a fool, but it didn’t change anything.
Brogan had gotten under his skin, and Embry didn’t know how to get him back out.
“Not in so many words, but the implication wasn’t subtle. I needed to know what was going on.” He eyeballed Embry. “Would you have told me the truth?”
“No. Not all of it, anyway.”
In fact, Embry probably would’ve done the same thing under the circumstances. Not that it changed what happened now, or Embry’s resentment over it.
“So,” Embry said briskly. “What do you want?”
Neither of them said anything for a beat—Brogan was considering the implications and Embry was waiting for him to get there.
“You think I’m blackmailing you?” Brogan’s eyes narrowed with the beginnings of disquiet. “You think I want money.”
Embry glanced around Brogan’s place—bachelor chic—and raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem the material type. But I’m open to negotiation.”
“Are you—would you fuck me to keep me quiet?” He sounded incredulous, but Embry didn’t buy it.
“Yes,” Embry said bluntly. “Are you asking me to?”
Brogan jerked back. “No. That’s not... I don’t want that.”
“Sure you do,” Embry said, meeting his gaze head on. “You’ve been pushing for it as long as you’ve known me. It’ll be easy. You agree to keep your mouth shut, and I’ll take my clothes off and you can bend me over the arm of this couch. I’ll spread my legs and—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Brogan said, his cheeks flushing. “You’re a hard ass. I get it. You’ve been through hell and you’re ready to burn down the world. I get that, too. But you’re also a scared fucking kid and I’m not going to take advantage of you that way. You know better. If I ever fuck you, Embry, it’ll be because you want me to, so don’t treat me like I’m him. Be straight with me for once.” Some of his anger seemed to fade. “I think I want to be on your side, but I can’t know for sure until you tell me everything.”
Embry’s throat tightened and he rose abruptly, startling both Brogan and the dog. He needed to pace, because he didn’t know what to do with that—Brogan was being ridiculous. He couldn’t be on Embry’s side, because Brogan would lose everything, and for no reason.
Embry’s chest ached, and he suspected it wasn’t his asthma so much as shock. And yet, as the minutes passed and Brogan only sat there, Embry realized that he believed him. Embry had gone from thinking he’d spoiled everything by caring for Brogan to realizing that instead, he’d somehow, potentially, gained an ally.
But at the same time, Brogan was out of reach, because it was all conditional, based on Embry’s explanation, and that was the one thing he couldn’t do.
Embry didn’t know how to talk anymore, not about anything real. Not as himself. Ford was capable and could use words, but it was Embry Evans that Brogan was asking for, and that part of him was silent these days. He’d lost his voice when he lost Amy.
Shit.
His thoughts were so incoherent they might as well be in a blender.
“Why are you giving me a chance?” he asked, bewildered. “Why didn’t you go to the cops or your boss?”
Brogan shifted his weight, making the recliner squeak. “I know you’re in a tough spot,” he began, then exhaled. “Fuck it. I’m not going to lie.” He shrugged once, his expression a mixture of caution and defiance. “I’m falling in love with you. Stupid, I know, since you’re looking at me like I’m Dahmer or something at the moment, but I can’t help it. And when it comes to people I care about, I can’t seem to keep myself from trying to fix all of their damn problems.” He laughed almost bitterly. “The pathetic truth, Embry, is that you don’t have to offer sex to keep me quiet. You only have to ask.”
It definitely wasn’t his asthma making his heart pound, his breath stop. It was those words: I’m falling in love with you.
Embry could only stare at him. Brogan’s speech might as well have been in another language, for all the sense it made. It was too unbelievable, too ridiculous. People who said things like that to Embry—and meant them—didn’t exist.
A stray thought warbled through him: Amy had existed.
He closed his eyes and let himself hear Brogan’s words once more before he put them aside. “Brogan,” he said, and it was embarrassing, how wrecked he sounded, “don’t you dare say that to keep me from—”
“I’m not,” Brogan interrupted. “I’m not asking you to give it up for me. Just let me in.” He was silent for a moment. “The way Helen described her... Amy sounds like she was captivating. I’m so sorry.”
Embry’s face crumpled and he turned away, making Brogan curse. Embry sensed him moving closer, and flinched back, hard.
“Please don’t,” he choked out. He couldn’t let Brogan touch him right now. “I can’t...if I let any of it out, it’ll all go.”
“Okay.” Brogan stopped where he was.
Embry scrubbed a hand over his forehead, struggling to get himself together. When he could keep his expression blank, he turned back. Just in time for a dangerous, terrifying thought to hit him.
“How’d you find Helen?” he asked.
Brogan tilted his head, as if something had occurred to him. It made Embry nervous.
“What?” he prodded.
“The research that Security Division did on you.”
“What?” Embry asked, and a thrum of fear wormed its way through him. “It’s been in there this whole time? But that’s confidential, right? Touring wouldn’t be allowed to know things like that about an employee, would they?”
“Not normally.” Brogan swallowed. “Embry, Coop asked Timmerson for it this morning.” Embry must have gone pale or something, because Brogan hurried to add, “Timmerson said no.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Embry said. “We bought two of your guys, Parks and Dillon. One of them will give it to Coop without Timmerson’s consent.” He stared at the wall for a moment. “It’s done. As soon as Coop sees my real last name, it’s done.”
“Why?” Brogan asked. “That’s the only thing I couldn’t find out. What reason could there be to murder your whole family? Why did you have to change your name?”
“I—I have to go.”
“Embry, talk to me. Please.”
“No, I—” He looked around for his duffle bag. He didn’t have much time. There it was, on the—
Brogan grabbed his hand and yanked him to a halt. “Listen to me for once, will you?” he asked. “I’ve been telling you to talk to me for two months, and I think I’ve proven that I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, and—” He blew out a breath, and then added more quietly, “The file might not be an issue right now if you hadn’t been so stubborn before, so let’s try something different this time, hmm? Let me in.”
His eyes were direct on Embry’s, clear and honest, and—and Embry realized, to his shock, that he wanted to tell Brogan, wanted Brogan to understand and make—make it better—and that was all it took to have the words tumbling out without his permission.
“My father was the old IT director at Touring. He found a series of fiscal documents tracking illegal sales of firearms to drug cartels in Mexico. In my last conversation with my dad on the phone—he sounded...edgy, which wasn’t like him at all. He said it was just some trouble at work. I think he was trying to figure out the safest way to turn them in. And they caught him before he could do anything.�
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Embry remembered the basement, remembered his father’s missing fingers and his mother’s bruised, naked, slashed torso. His voice began to shrink, and he wanted to turn toward Brogan, wanted to say “fix me, help me” but he couldn’t—even if it wouldn’t ruin everything, Embry could never say words like those, not to anyone but Amy, and especially not now, when saying them meant taking advantage of Brogan’s ludicrous urge to be a doormat to the people he cared about.
“Joel’s in charge of keeping the information secure,” he managed somehow, “so when my dad found the documents, Joel would’ve had to cover his ass. I tracked a big payment from his personal accounts to Coop’s.”
“But Henniton and Coop hate each other,” Brogan said, his brow crinkling in confusion.
“My father’s the reason why. Joel told me once that Coop was unreliable. When I asked why, he said that he’d worked with Coop on a cleanup project before, and that Coop had turned a simple eradication into a fiasco because he couldn’t keep his head together.”
Embry had to choke out the next bit. “That’s what he called it. A simple eradication.”
“Jesus.” Brogan’s hand rested between Embry’s shoulder blades, rubbing small, soothing circles there. Embry wanted to lean back into the touch, but he kept his spine stiff.
“I think he paid Coop to destroy the evidence and—and any witnesses, but Coop tor—tortured—” Embry’s voice stoppered. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Okay,” Brogan murmured. “It’s okay.” He continued to rub Embry’s back, and his muscles gradually unlocked. Thankfully, he changed the subject. “How do the death threats fit into all this?”
“That’s Vindler being an idiot,” Embry said. Business. Focus on business—that was his domain, and it was easier. “He wants the cartel’s business. He wanted to distract Joel, make the cartel think Touring was a risk. We showed our leverage, he backed off.”
“For good?”
“Vindler’s terrified that we’ll show our hand, so the death threats are pretty moot. I think Joel would’ve cut Security Division loose by now if he wasn’t finding Dillon and Parks so helpful, and he’ll need them if he wants to try again with the cartel.”
“Your research again, the stuff that took down Vindler?”
“Yes.” Embry ignored the little bump of warmth he felt when Brogan looked impressed.
Brogan asked, “And the spreadsheet Coop went on about?”
“I had to tamper with the numbers to make sure the sale didn’t go through—I’m not helping drug dealers and murderers get guns, even to screw over Touring. When the amounts didn’t match up, the meeting turned into a clusterfuck—that’s how Dillon got beat up. Even though I covered my tracks, Coop’s pretty sure it was me. No doubt that’s why he wants my file.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“I still don’t have enough to prove that Touring’s selling illegal guns, though. I only know what Joel’s told me, what I’ve seen, and I’m out of time. If Coop finds out who I am, they’ll kill me.”
“We can fix this.”
“How?”
“We’ll print your file. Delete the electronic one and shred anything with your old name. Then scan the rest of the printed stuff back into the computer. Whenever Dillon or Parks give the file to Coop, it’ll only say Ford.”
Embry said, “Coop might’ve already seen it.” Then he shook his head. “No. He would’ve come for me the moment he knew. If I go now...”
“You can’t do it,” Brogan pointed out. “No one in support will let you anywhere near that terminal or the research files. Security Division is careful about that sort of thing.”
Neither one of them said what they were both thinking: Embry couldn’t, but Brogan could.
Brogan’s hand stalled on his back. “Are you planning to kill them, Embry?”
Embry looked Brogan right in the eye. He deserved the truth about this, at least. “Yes. Still think you’re falling in love?”
Brogan collapsed onto the couch. “I think you’re terrifying. I sympathize with your anger, but I’m—you’re freaking me out.” He was shaking when he ran a hand through his hair. “How are you planning to get away with it?”
Embry shrugged. “It’s never much mattered to me, what happens after. If I live, I’ll run. The cops will either catch me or they won’t. And don’t you dare fucking offer to help—I swear to God I’ll brain you.”
Brogan blanched at the if I live part and completely ignored the comment about helping. “What if...what if you could take them down in a way that means you don’t have to run or die or go to prison for the rest of your life?”
“What life?” he asked bitterly, but he already knew where this was going because Brogan was predictable as the sun, so he resigned himself to it now. He carried the duffel to Brogan’s kitchen table, palming one of the sets of handcuffs and sliding them into his pocket while his back was to Brogan. Then, more obviously, making sure Brogan could see this part, he pulled out a bottle of his asthma pills.
“You’re only twenty-three,” Brogan pointed out. “There are a million things you could do. You can be happy again. It doesn’t have to end here for you.”
Embry was so aghast at Brogan’s underestimation of his rage that he completely forgot what he was doing. He could only gape. “You think I care about that? Even if I could send them to prison, I wouldn’t.”
“Have you—” Brogan started, but Embry had to—he had to stop it, because listening to this was impossible. Brogan couldn’t know, didn’t understand what it felt like, because if he had, then he never would’ve suggested there was another option. It was such a gross misunderstanding of—no, it wouldn’t be contained—
“I want them broken and bleeding and begging,” he snarled, and Brogan winced. “The cops had their chance, and they fucked it up. There’s only my way left. Prison’s not enough, because my parents fucking s-suffered. They fucking...and Amy...”
He didn’t see Brogan move, but somehow Embry was being held, his face pressed into the curve of Brogan’s shoulder. He was shaking apart. Brogan had torn him down, probably without even meaning to, and all he could do was cling, because even though Brogan didn’t get it, couldn’t possibly get it, being held by him was still the safest Embry had felt since he walked into that basement.
“Shh.” Brogan buried his fingers deep in the hair at the nape of Embry’s neck, stroking and soothing. Embry concentrated on that small touch, pleasurable and compassionate. His barriers had dropped without his noticing, not that he’d ever been able to resist when Brogan touched him like this, like he was precious. Eventually the tremors subsided, and the urge to erupt faded. He felt empty again. And with the emptiness came clarity.
Some things couldn’t be sacrificed. Amy was one of them. Embry didn’t want to hurt Brogan, wasn’t sure he could hurt Brogan, not now that they’d shifted into...whatever this was. More than support, he was sure of that, but he didn’t know the word for the feeling that accompanied having Brogan’s arms around him. So no, he couldn’t hurt Brogan. But he couldn’t let Brogan stop him, either.
He made himself pull away.
“If you ask me to,” Brogan began, and Embry interrupted.
“I’m not asking you for anything bigger than a glass of water,” he said, holding up his bottle of pills. He wouldn’t let himself be tempted, and besides, Brogan was downright stupid. “Stop offering.”
Brogan’s mouth worked like he was testing different words—he hadn’t figured out the conversation was over. He stepped behind the breakfast bar and opened a cabinet for a glass. While his back was turned, Embry pulled out the cuffs, and a few seconds later, Brogan was staring, dumbfounded, at the circle of metal now tying him to the handle of the oven door.
“I’m sorry, Brogan,” Embry said. “But I’m not pulling you into this.�
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“Into this?” Brogan repeated.
“I’m out of time,” Embry explained. “I’ll have to do it tonight.”
“Fucking wait a minute,” Brogan groaned, his tone so beyond exasperated that under other circumstances it might even be funny. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Embry. You don’t have to kill anyone. We can do it nice and legal.”
“I don’t want nice and legal. I know I don’t have to kill them. I want to.” Badly. He needed their pain the way he needed oxygen.
“Nice and legal has a lot going for it,” Brogan said. “It has a life at the end, Embry. A life where we could maybe—”
Embry clenched his teeth. “No. Not good enough. They have to suffer for what they’ve done.”
“You’re a little scary right now,” Brogan said. He chewed on his lip, eyes flickering between Embry’s face and the slight bulge in Embry’s jacket where his pistol was holstered. “So I know you mean it. But this isn’t you, Embry, not really.”
“It is. This is what they made me into!”
“No. This is a reaction to something that happened to you, and even if you do mean it, that doesn’t mean you won’t regret it. This is a lot to deal with in a very short span—me finding out, you learning about the file and Coop asking for it, and feeling the time pressure. It’s a lot. Take a minute.”
“You’re arguing for them?” Embry whispered, and that burned. It burned hot and violent.
“Not for them,” Brogan said, clearly offended. “I’m worried about you, asshole.”
“Shut up.” Because he didn’t believe that. He wouldn’t, not when Brogan knew what he planned. Someone as good as Brogan couldn’t love him.
“No,” Brogan snapped. “We’re gonna make a deal. I’ll take care of your file for you, right now, if you promise to come back here with me and give me twenty-four hours to convince you that there’s a better way. Think about it. You have nothing to lose. Even if I can’t make you change your mind, the file’s taken care of and you’ve got plenty of time to destroy the whole company. It’s better this way. You don’t die or go to prison tonight, and you have time to screw over Touring. All it’ll cost you is twenty-four hours.”
