Dylan (16 page)

“Why are you crying?” I’m pretty sure it’s
Ethan, but on the off chance I’m wrong, I need to know before I say
something to upset her further.

She sniffles while brushing her now knotted
blonde hair off of her face. “I hate when he leaves like this.
After what happened to Troy—”

She pauses as if realizing she’s said too
much, and it immediately brings my guards up. Trisha doesn’t keep
things from me—as far as I know anyway. I suspect now that she has
been doing just that. Dylan’s secret comes instantly to mind. I
wonder if her resistance has anything to do with it.

“You’ve already started, you might as well
finish that thought. Who’s Troy?” Leaning back, I keep my
expression neutral and rest on my bent elbows.

Trisha sighs looking nervous as she takes in
my relaxed form on her bed.
Yup, I’m staying until you answer
me.

“Um . . . He’s no one really. Forget I said
anything, Raven. I just— Troy is one of Ethan’s friends.”

“Go on.”

She huffs out an exasperated breath and
mimics my position on her bed. “Troy was shot a few months
ago.”

My eyes widen like saucers in my skull. I
have to look ridiculous. “He got shot? As in a bullet went through
his body? Is he okay?” I am mumbling now, but Trisha takes it in
stride. She just nods slightly with every question that spews from
my lips.

“He’s happily married now, and his wife is
fucking gorgeous.” Trisha’s face seems to morph before my eyes, and
I’m looking at her usual relaxed expression now. “I swear if I were
a lesbian . . .”

She lets that thought trail off, and I burst
into a fit of laughter. Trisha sure does have a way with words. She
laughs with me until we are falling into each other, liquid lining
our eyes, and air trying to work its way through our gasping
breaths.

When we finally gain control of ourselves
again, I think of another question that I probably should have
asked from the beginning. “How did he get shot?”

Trisha stares at me for a good five minutes.
I’m not even sure she blinks as her eyes roam over my face and her
finger twists in a stray strand of her hair. “I don’t think I
should be the one to tell you that.” She finally says.

Anxiety gnaws at my gut and digs its way
into my chest. “Why?” The single word leaves my lips on a croaked
whisper.

Long blonde hair swishes around Trisha’s
face as her head moves back and forth. “I thought you already knew,
but knowing what I do now, I know that you don’t. You’d never be
okay with all of it if you did.”

The knot in my gut twists tighter. “Know
what?”

“Just let him explain it to you, Raven.
Trust me when I tell you that you need to hear it from, Dylan.”

“Dylan?” Saying his name now didn’t send the
rush of warmth through my system that it had a few minutes
before.

Trisha just nods. She really isn’t going to
tell me anything. “If you know that I won’t be okay with whatever
this is, then why are you not telling me?”

“Because, if I tell you then you’ll never
give him the chance he deserves.”

“Dylan?” I repeat, because I’m at a complete
loss as to what else to say.

Trisha nods again, but this time she leans
forward to press a quick kiss to my cheek. “Just trust him, Raven.”
She whispers the words close to my ear before she leans back with a
small grin on her lips. “Thank you for checking on me. I feel a lot
better, but now that I’ve calmed down, I’m exhausted.”

I stand, running my hands down my
knee-length nightie. It’s not my usual bedtime attire, but I’d
wanted to feel pretty tonight, now I really just want the comfort
of one of my Dad’s old sweatshirts.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” I turn to
leave, but Trisha’s voice stops me again.

“Raven?”

I turn back to look at her. She is flipping
back her sheets to climb in between them. “Yeah?”

“You’re the strongest woman I know. I know
that you don’t understand why, but can you be strong enough for the
both of us for the next few days?”

Her words drop into my heart like a lead
weight. I can’t speak, so I simply nod. Trisha smiles at me, and I
manage a grin I don’t feel before I head back to my room. I have a
lot of questions for Dylan, but something tells me they are
questions I needed to ask him in person. He can’t get back soon
enough.

Chapter Eighteen

Dylan

My phone is
burning a hole through my cargo pocket. Since I woke up this
morning to the crashing in my skull that can only be caused by a
massive hangover, I’ve wanted nothing more than to text Raven. I
just haven’t had time. Standing in the woods looking down the scope
of my rifle doesn’t seem even close to the right time.

Knowing Troy is directly across from me in
the woods on the other side of the broken down mill is of little
comfort. I just want this over with. I want to get back to Palms, I
want to bring Sean home, and I want to kiss Raven.

It’s all I can think about. Hearing a woman
say my name in a sleepy whisper has never affected me before, but
hearing Raven say it had me hard as a rock. I know I need to take
this slow, but I just need a taste. I’m pretty sure this is the
longest I’ve ever gone without fucking, and it’s really starting to
show if I can get hard at the sound of my own name. I need relief,
but I only want Raven.

I should be marked a fucking saint for my
patience at this point. I’ve never even tried to take it slow
before. Either a woman wanted to fuck, or she didn’t. Raven has no
idea the amount of power she holds over me already. Fuck, even I
didn’t really want to think about what all I would do for her. The
possibilities are endless.

A shiny black SUV pulls onto the gravel
bringing my attention back to the matter at hand. I hold the rifle
steady with my gaze locked on target through the scope. A tall man
with graying black hair and a wide build steps out dressed in an
expensive three-piece suit. This is Roy Elliot. I would know that
ridiculous comb-over anywhere.

Three men, equally as big in size, if not a
bit bigger, step out after him. I can’t hear what is being said,
but when two of the men move to circle around the crumbling
building, I have a pretty good guess. One of the men walks in
Troy’s general direction,
a
nd the other
heads my way.

Roy and the last man head in to meet with
Sean and Ethan. I can’t worry about what might happen in there. I
need to focus on the man heading toward me. I slip my cell out of
my pocket, never taking my aim off the unknowing man, and text Sean
a simple code: 2-CTP.

I tuck my phone away again as I crouch into
the dense foliage. My boots are sinking into the mud at my feet,
insects are circling around my sweat soaked body, and my injured
leg is fucking killing me, but I refuse to let my gaze waver.

I shift, still holding my aim on the big man
before me. His gaze is searching, taking in every space he thinks
someone might be, but he is close enough now that I silently pump a
bullet into the chamber. His gaze flickers toward the area where I
am, but he can’t see me. I am one tall sonuvabitch, but I can hide
myself like a fucking shadow.

Concealment is one of the things Ardon
instilled in us from a very early age. We had some of the most
intense games of hide-and-seek ever heard of. Big guy moves in my
direction, completely clueless to the shadow of death lingering
just a few feet away.

His heavy foot gets sucked into the muddy
wetland, and he curses as he tugs on it with both hands wrapped
around his knee. Like that will do his big-ass any good.

I line up my shot. The “X” of the crosshairs
a familiar sight, the feel of my finger against the curved metal of
the trigger a familiar touch, and the stillness of my breath is a
familiar feeling. This is what I’ve been raised to be. This is who
I am.

I pull back on the trigger and let the shot
ring into the air. The man crumples to the ground with his foot
still stuck in the mud, and a new hole in his blood-spattered head.
I hear two more shots echo after mine. I sigh in relief as I gather
my stuff and head to the old mill entrance.

Troy circles around the building, meeting up
with me at about the same time as Sean and Ethan tug a struggling
Roy Elliot out of the building.

Roy is fighting for all he’s worth.
Unfortunately, it’s not nearly enough against those two. His hair
is disheveled, and his dark eyes are wide with fear, but his chin
set stubbornly in a show of bravery. Sean pushes him to the ground
at the same time Ethan pulls tight on his arm, and the sickening
crack of bone seems to melt into his screams of agony around us. He
should have known better than to cross us.

Ethan drops his arm, and we all watch as the
man curls into a fetal position on the ground at our feet. Roy
isn’t crying, but I have no doubt that he wants to. Staying strong
is a front he’s putting on for our benefit.

“Ronan would never be okay with this. I can
only imagine how much trouble you boys just brought upon
yourselves.” Roy’s voice is as weak as the man himself.

“Let’s find out how Ronan feels shall we?”
Sean pulls out his cell, presses a few buttons, and then the sound
of ringing fills the air. He’s put the call on speaker.

“Ye okay, son?” Ronan’s concerned voice
rings out around us.

“Your son is a psycho, Ronan! Do you have
any idea—”

Ethan’s fist lands solidly against Roy’s jaw
interrupting his pathetic speech. I don’t know why he thinks he can
talk his way out of this. Ronan will always side with Sean.
Everyone knows that.

“What’s going on, son? Was that Roy’s voice
I just heard?”

“I found Callie.”

Sean never speaks much, but when he does
people listen, and right now, everyone is so silent I’m afraid to
breathe. Ronan is taking his time, formulating his response, and
trying to piece the puzzle together. Roy is silent now as well. He
knows his time is limited. Ronan will never hear him out once he
discovers his deceit.

I look at Troy. His arms are crossed
defensively over his chest, his gaze is hard and narrowed, and I
can see the vein in his head pulse in anger. I can read Troy better
than anyone can, and I know he is seconds away from snapping. He
wants Callie dead. Roy knows where she is.

“Roy has Callie?” Ronan questions after what
seems like an eternity.

“Roy is fucking Callie.” Sean’s voice
carries the finality of Roy’s death sentence. I can see Roy is
visibly shaking now.

“I see.” Ronan’s usually warm voice is as
hard and cold as the murderous expression on Troy’s face. “Bring
him to the warehouse.”

“Understood.”

The line goes eerily silent, and Sean shoves
the phone back into his pocket. Sean lifts his head and nods in
Ethan’s direction. We all have our little roles in the
organization: Troy handles the fights, I run the drugs, Sean
handles interrogations, and Ethan is like Ardon’s personal
assassin. Ardon has trained Ethan in every form of combat you can
think of. I imagine the kind of rigorous training Ardon put him
through is similar to what a Black Ops Marine might endure. Ardon
wanted a soldier, and by fuck he created one.

Ethan slips into a mode of being we only see
in these situations. He wraps his forearm around Roy’s throat and
squeezes. It takes only seconds for Roy to pass out. When he is
completely still, Ethan steps back, letting Roy’s big body crash to
the cold ground.

When I look up from Roy’s slumped form, I
see Troy walking back from Sean’s SUV with rope. We work together
securing him in a way that ensures he won’t get lose, and toss Roy
in the back of the SUV. He groans, but other than that, he is
still.

“Ethan will ride with me, and Troy can drive
Ethan’s car.” Sean’s orders are issued, and like good little
soldiers, we follow without question.

It’s not like this is the first time we’ve
been in a situation like this. I can’t even add up all of the men
we’ve killed between the four of us, but suddenly, and for the
first time ever, I’m thinking of more than myself. I’m thinking of
how Raven will react to this side of me.

I have to make her love me before she ever
finds out about this. If she loves me then she won’t be able to
leave me.
Wait, love? Why in the hell would I want her to love
me?
What is happening to me? Since when do I think in terms of
love?

I fall into the passenger side of Ethan’s
car just as Troy closes the driver side door behind him. My heart
is pounding furiously against my chest, and my mouth suddenly feels
dry. I keep my gaze straight ahead. If I look at Troy, he will know
something is wrong. I can’t lie to Troy. I’ll have to tell him
about the panic that’s swiftly working its way through my veins and
into my chest.

“What’s wrong, D?”

I jerk my wide-eyed gaze to Troy. His eyes
are flicking between the road and me. I start quickly moving my
head back and forth, but stop at Troy’s angry glare in my
direction.

“Don’t give me that shit, D. You’re gripping
that fucking door handle so hard your fucking knuckles are white.
So I’m going to ask you again, what the fuck is wrong?”

I look down. Fuck, he’s right. I force my
grip to loosen and release. I suck in a deep breath but realize
it’s not fucking enough. I dig through my pocket, light a joint,
and puff deeply. The familiar burn in my lungs settles me enough to
shift my gaze to Troy’s worried expression. Well, fuck.

I take a couple more hits before I answer
him. Troy seems to know that I’m trying to gather my thoughts. He
stays silent beside me.

“Do you remember when we were twelve years
old, and you told me Kaci was the girl you were going to
marry?”

Troy looks at me with a confused expression
on his face, and nods as if he’s not sure he’s actually following
me and my ridiculous explanation.