by Skye Warren
He sighed, resigned. “I didn’t think you would come, but I had to offer.”
After locking the door behind him, I was drawn like a magnet to the workout room. The hidden door to the office had been left partially open. I hoped that Philip would be in a calmer state.
He was sitting in the same place he had been during the small hours of the morning, when I’d left him. No shirt, his broad chest and tattoo striking. The tight muscles of his abs bunched as they led to his slacks. In his hand an empty glass dangled. His expression was hidden in the shadows of the room.
These rocks were jagged and sharp—the kind that jutted up from the ground in asymmetrical triangles, treacherous to climb. This was where an explorer might choose to turn back. This was where a person might fall, bleeding and broken between the rocks, never to be seen again.
Colin had thought I should turn back. He’d thought I would fall.
I sat on the leather ottoman opposite him, clutching the butter-soft leather in my hands. “Back when Adrian was describing the man he was with, the one he told about me…he said he looked like you. And it seemed like, like maybe you knew who he was talking about.”
“Always curious,” he said darkly, and unlike when he called me kitten, it didn’t sound like a compliment.
But regardless of whether it was a compliment, it was definitely the truth. I was curious—always pushing, always digging. And this was important enough that I wouldn’t give up. “Do you know who he is?”
“I might.”
“Who?”
“He told you, didn’t he?” A humorless laugh. “‘He could have been your brother.’”
My eyes widened. “Colin? No.”
Colin didn’t even look like Philip—not exactly. They both had a large build, big hands, and deep scowls. But that was where the similarities ended. Philip’s hair was dark, almost black—and Colin’s was a pale brown, at least what I could see of it in the short crop. And while both of their eyes could be cold and cruel, Philip’s eyes were so much darker and expressive than Colin’s, who kept everything well contained behind thick walls.
It didn’t make sense that Adrian would have been with someone like Colin just to simulate being with Philip. It also didn’t make sense that Colin would ever do that, considering he was happily married to Allie.
“Not Colin. Someone else.”
I blinked. But Colin was his only brother. There were three Murphy siblings: Philip, Rose, and Colin. “I don’t understand.”
Philip’s gaze studied me, almost challenging. “I know you liked that I was so loyal to my family. That I took care of them. It reminds you of what you never had.”
I couldn’t help but flinch. This was what dangerous rocks were like, slippery and sharp. “You didn’t take care of them, you pushed them away.”
He nodded. “I pushed them away, but I made sure they were safe. It’s part of why you were so interested in me from the beginning. Because if I could protect them, then there was hope for you too.”
It was getting harder to breathe. Don’t get a panic attack now, I told myself sternly. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that it’s a lie. I wasn’t loyal to family. Didn’t protect them. At least, not all of them.”
I sucked in a breath. “There was another brother?”
“A half brother. I didn’t find out about him until later, after our parents had passed and I had gotten Rose back from the foster homes.”
“God, Philip. That wasn’t your fault. Whatever happened to him—”
“You have no idea what happened to him,” Philip growled. “I don’t either, because I turned him away. My custody of Rose was already uncertain. Even though I had a legit job, it didn’t pay much, so I had to earn extra on the side so I could bribe the judge.”
“You bribed the judge?”
“Fuck yes, I bribed the judge. You think they’re some kind of holy ground? Fucking pricks, claiming they were acting in her best interests. They were hurting her in that home, in that school. I would have taken her and disappeared if they hadn’t given me custody.”
This is where you come from. This is who you are. The words didn’t only apply to me. They applied to him, and the father who had hurt him, the mother who he believed he’d failed, the sister he had saved. The brother he hadn’t been able to help. Philip had grown up so quickly, scaling up the ranks of the criminal underworld in order to protect his family—in order to protect himself.
My heart squeezed. “Oh Philip.”
“Get dressed,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.
I fidgeted, wondering where this dark path had led him. I’d wanted to ask questions, to dig, to uncover what was underneath. I just wasn’t sure I was ready for whatever I had unearthed. “I am dressed.”
“In something warmer. Shoes. Jacket.”
“Oh. Are we…going somewhere?” He just stared at me. Okay, dumb question. “Where are we going?”
“To find who’s pulling the strings. To find my brother.”
“The drop is tomorrow. You said you’d give me the ransom.” I made my voice even, as if I wasn’t pressuring him—even though, God. He knew it was life or death. “Are you still going to?”
“I’ll protect you,” he said fiercely, and the promise of it, the strength, was so alluring I fell into it. His dark gaze held me captive, and I swam around in its depths. And it was only later that I realized he hadn’t answered my question after all. He’d said he would protect me.
He hadn’t said he would save my brother.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
WE ARRIVED AT the docks around six p.m.
I knew where we were because of the smell, faint at first—then a slap in the face when Philip opened the car door. This wasn’t the clean-cut touristy Navy Pier with its ice cream shops and Ferris wheel. This wasn’t even the industrial sector where sweaty laborers would wolf whistle as you walked by.
This was the abandoned section, the one everyone, even city-wise tough guys, knew to avoid. The streets were cracked wide in some places, a river of debris running through it. In other places there were burnt-out shells of cars piled up like crawfish at a bake.
The warehouses sat empty—or so they seemed, with signs too faded to read and heavy chains on wide panels. One of them was charred and bent, as broken as the cars that were stacked beside it. It was jarring to realize that any fire could affect metal this way—nothing was immune to the destruction of dangerous men. Men like Philip.
“Why are we here?” I asked, not leaving the comfort of the sedan. There was a shiny new Rolls Royce and a vintage Shelby in his garages, but he had chosen to drive a nondescript black town car. That was worrying, because it meant we weren’t going on a date or a nice drive in the country. It meant we were going to do something illegal.
“Stay close,” he said, turning to walk away before I could answer.
Shivering, I stepped into the cool night and closed the door behind me. The sound of it reverberated through my bones. The bottom of my sneaker slipped on slick gravel before I righted myself. Philip was almost to the warehouse side door before I caught up with him.
The door swung open, revealing a man in a black T-shirt that stretched over tight muscles and black cargo pants. His eyes were flat and cold. He was muscle. A mercenary.
Behind him I had the impression of tables loaded high and crates stacked in corners. Of other men like him, waiting. They were too far in shadows to see.
The mercenary was similar to Raine in the way he studied me, except this man wasn’t evaluating me for my value—he was evaluating me as a threat. Apparently finding none he turned to Philip. “We’re ready to go.”
“The courthouse?” Philip asked as if confirming.
The man nodded. “He’s working late.”
“Good,” Philip said. “Ella here needs to see this. Wouldn’t want his pristine reputation destroyed by the truth.”
The tone mocked me a hundred different ways—for being weak, for hav
ing morals. For having a father who had something to hide. But I didn’t even have time to be offended. I was too caught up in what would happen next. “Wait. We’re going to…question someone?”
That was probably a polite term for what would really happen. A shakedown. Torture.
The men ignored me.
“Three around back, two in front,” the mercenary said. “Three in with you. Clean entry, clean exit.”
“Of course,” Philip said, somehow managing to imply a threat even though the man in front of us probably had five different weapons strapped to his body right now. And he would know how to use them.
Philip would only hire the best.
But he also managed to command respect from the scariest criminals in Chicago.
The man inclined his head in both agreement and deference. “The girl?”
“She comes with me,” Philip said.
“The girl has a name,” I cut in, annoyed. “And she doesn’t like being ignored. Where are we going?”
The mercenary’s expression remained impassive, but I thought I saw a flicker of surprise in his cold eyes. He even seemed a little impressed. Nice to meet you too.
Philip and the mercenary were both packed with muscles and weapons and years of experience committing violent acts. I had experience with surviving when people tried to kill me, of shouting when people tried to silence me—of staring back, unflinching, into the face of evil.
You know, we all had our strengths.
Philip turned to me, eyes narrowed. “You wanted me to find your brother. What did you think I was going to do? Put his picture on a fucking milk carton?”
“I want you to tell me where we’re going and what we’re doing. I want you to tell me who we’re going to see. And what I want most is for you to treat me like an equal.”
Philip turned to the man. “Load up. We leave in five.”
The man studied me, something like respect in his flat eyes. Then he turned and shut the door behind us, leaving us alone—for five minutes, apparently.
Then Philip’s hands were on my arms. My back slammed into the rough metal wall—my head would have too, but his hand was there, catching me, sliding down to my neck, tilting my face up to his.
“Let’s get this straight,” he murmured. “We are not equals. I am the bars and you are inside me, trapped here, and I’m never fucking letting you go. You can touch me, you can fight me. But you can’t ever leave.”
My heart thumped in something like acknowledgment. It made me angry. “Hurt me, then. If you’re so bent on scaring me, on keeping me low.”
“I don’t have to hurt you,” he said, sound almost forlorn. “I just have to keep you.”
“I hate you,” I whispered, and I didn’t just mean him. I hated my adoptive parents, who had kept me out of pity. And I hated him for keeping me out of lust—a twisted, obsessive desire.
“Good,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Then it won’t be worse when I do this.”
That was the only warning I had before he bent his head. His hand kept my chin tilted up. I had no choice but to accept him, his lips firm and demanding against mine. He flicked his tongue across my lips, and in surprise I opened to him. Then he was inside me, licking me, tasting me, sliding his tongue with mine.
He rubbed his heavy body against my front, and without meaning to, my leg twined around him. I could feel his arousal through my jeans and his slacks—throbbing and insistent.
Then his hands were on my jeans, pulling down the zipper.
I fought it then, surprised, in denial. “No,” I said against his lips, still breathless. “Not here.”
“Here,” he said, like gravel, cupping my sex over my panties. “Anywhere I please.”
Then his fingers slid beneath the elastic band, and he was touching me intimately, his fingers slipping through wetness. I closed my eyes, face heating in humiliation. Humiliation that I didn’t want this, but my body did want this, even up against a dark warehouse filled with weapons and who knew what else.
“Just one,” he said softly, his fingers sliding against my clit, as if he had considered making me come again and again but compromised with one. Restrained himself with one.
Without meaning to, my hips rocked up against his hand, fucking it even as I shook my head. It broke our kiss—he didn’t seem to mind, kissing his way down my neck instead.
“I know this is wrong,” he murmured. “What was I supposed to do? This is all I am—steel bars. A lock. This is all I know how to be. I tried to keep you out, but then you walked back in again.”
“It’s not—” I broke off on a sharp moan. It’s not up to you, I’d meant to say, but it seemed like a lie when my body was panting and rocking over his fingers. Arousal twined around me like barbed wire, strong and sharp.
“Don’t cry,” he said.
And only then did I realize that tears were falling from my eyes squeezed shut. Plaintive sobs caught in my throat. That was how I came, my arousal slipping over his hand, tears falling on my cheeks. Talented, knowing fingers drew out my orgasm to its painful crescendo before stroking me gently.
He pulled from my panties and put them to his mouth, sucking the juices from them. His eyes fell shut, ecstasy clear in his sigh. “So good. I want to spread you out on hood of the car and eat you until you can’t move a single, fucking muscle.”
My whole body seemed to spasm with desire. This was what he did to me—he made me want insane things. He was made of steel bars. The only thing he could do was keep me, but he made it feel so good.
“Maybe later,” he said, glancing to the warehouse. “It’s time to go.”
I found my voice again, though it came out shaky. “Where? Please?”
Despite his obvious tension and arousal, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You always were persistent. Since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you. We’re going to see a federal district judge. The one who signed my warrant.”
And just like that, I was almost sorry that I’d asked.
Chapter Thirty
PHILIP PARKED THE town car beside a black Escalade that was already empty. The courthouse was located in the well-maintained part of downtown, stacked full of city offices and street vendors. They all sat empty now, partly due to the late hour—and maybe partly because they sensed it was better to be inside, the way that birds stopped singing in a forest when a predator came near.
Clean entry, clean exit.
I wasn’t sure what that would mean. Hopefully killing or hurting people wouldn’t qualify as clean.
Three men wearing all black and holding firearms joined Philip and I at the base of white concrete steps. I had expected them to go ahead, maybe crouching low and peering around every corner. That was how you saw cops enter a place on TV, with the head detective bringing up the rear—only coming in when things were established as safe to do his job.
This was the exact opposite, and I supposed that was appropriate because these men were the exact opposite. Not cops at all. Criminals.
Philip strode in front, walking with a casual confidence, a faint swagger I could imagine him using when the building was open. I followed closely behind him, with very little confidence and zero swagger. The armed men, including the one we’d spoken to outside the warehouse whose name was Marcus, followed in loose formation, weapons holstered. Their bodies appeared relaxed but were clearly ready for trouble. Their gazes clinically scanned every inch of the wide front steps.
When he reached the top, Philip didn’t pause—he opened the glass doors etched with the scales of justice and went inside. An old man in a security uniform sat at the desk. He swallowed hard at the sight of us but didn’t appear surprised. Philip headed straight for him, and I kept pace even as the other men fell back.
“Good evening, Joel,” Philip said.
The older man was faintly perspiring. I was worried he might collapse. “Mr. Murphy,” he said, wheezy.
“The cameras?”
“They’re off. The metal detectors
too. No one will bother you, I made sure of it. I did just like you asked.”
Philip’s voice was almost gentle as he said, “I knew you would.”
“Thank you,” the guard said in a tremulous voice. Tears glistened in his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”
Had they threatened this man? God, he looked like a frail old grandfather. I managed to restrain myself until we had walked away. “What did you do to him?”
“Worried about him?” Philip asked, almost taunting me with it.
“Yes. Why shouldn’t I be? He looked terrified.”
Philip strode over the marble floor and through the metal detector—which didn’t go off—as if he owned the place. And I supposed he did own the place. When you could command the people inside it, when you could come and go as you pleased with a group of trained soldiers, you were the true owner.
“He was terrified,” Philip said, “especially when his oldest son crossed the Cavallero family. If they couldn’t find him, they’d have killed the entire family just to make a point. He has a daughter.”
I blinked, trying to take in this side of him—this Philip who did good deeds for people in the city, the same way he did for me. A kind of underworld protector who saved not quite innocent fish from the evil sharks in the water. “You saved her?”
Philip reached up to caress the back of my neck. Then his hand squeezed and he pulled me close. His mouth was an inch from my ear. “I saved her,” he whispered, “by handing her brother over the Cavallero’s so they didn’t have to look for him. They were appreciative. I earned a favor from them that day—and one from the old man outside too.”
A chill ran through me. So he had sent a man to his death. But he’d saved innocent lives in the process, hadn’t he? It all felt dirty to me, especially the fact that he had used that favor to break into a city courthouse to do God knew what. To find out who was pulling the strings, but I didn’t know exactly what that would entail.
Honorable Judge Lawrence Alonso, read a placard outside an office. Inside there were three separate desks—for secretaries and paralegals, maybe. All empty. They had been vacated as part of Philip’s preplanning to come here, maybe the same way that he’d swayed the security guard to let us in unseen.