by Laura Kaye
Chapter 15
Wanna talk about it?” Easy asked from the passenger seat.
“No,” Shane said, entirely aware his tone gave a lot away but too fucking tired and pissed to care. Not pissed at Crystal. Pissed for her.
Goddamnit, he could barely breathe for the Humvee of rage parked on his chest.
Shane’s fingers might’ve only been on her back for a few seconds, but he’d felt enough to have a damn good idea what was going on underneath her clothes.
Lines of scars.
Some shallow, some knotted and deep.
Lots of things might’ve made them.
Problem was, he’d seen the backs of men who’d been struck by a whip while serving various places overseas. And whips left a distinctive pattern of diagonally placed straight lines. And that was too damn similar to what his fingers had traced on Crystal’s bare skin.
As if Shane hadn’t been horrified enough by her swollen cheek and bruised arm.
With every fiber of his being, Shane hoped he was wrong about what he’d felt. He might never feel a greater happiness than to know his imagination had run away with him, and he had it all wrong. But instinct and intuition had his stomach rolling and the whiskey he’d drank earlier burning a hole in his gut. Add that to Crystal’s reaction to his discovery, and Shane knew he wasn’t wrong.
And that was another thing his brain couldn’t stop chewing on. Why had she panicked so badly? Why had she run away? She’d nearly thrown herself from his truck, and no way her near fall and barefoot flight hadn’t chewed up the skin on her hands and feet. When he’d finally caught up to her at her truck, she’d been crying so hard he’d worried she wouldn’t be able to see to drive. Jesus, after the privilege of sharing a moment of passion with her, the evidence of her pain had just about broken his heart.
He peered down at the pair of white flip-flops resting on the seat beside him. They had a small fabric flower on the strap over the toes. He remembered them from the night he’d carried Jenna up the steps. As he drove through the quiet, mid-night streets of Baltimore, Shane debated the best form of death for the asshole who’d done this to her. Bruno.
Shooting? Too fast and impersonal. Poison? The scumbag might not be conscious of the fact he was dying. Drowning? Not painful enough. Cutting off his hands and dick? Messy but poetic.
“You like her,” Easy said, his voice pulling Shane from his murder fantasies.
Well, hell. And then there were three teammates who suspected the truth. No sense in doing a duck and cover now. He glanced toward his friend. “Yeah.”
Easy nodded and ran a hand over the side of his head. “Then you gotta get her out of there.”
Gripping the wheel harder, Shane heaved a deep breath and strove for a bit of levelheadedness amid the rage whipping up inside his chest. Everyone knowing he’d crossed an emotional line was one thing. But responding emotionally was another. “I know, but it’s complicated. And we’ve got just about enough of that on our plate these days.”
“I won’t disagree with you there. But most of the time, there’s a difference between what’s right and what’s easy. Maybe you should think about bringing her to Hard Ink.”
Shane cut his gaze across the cab to find Easy staring at him, a tired, almost weary, expression on his face. “I don’t know that I could convince Crystal of that. Or Nick.”
Crossing his arms, Easy shook his head. “I don’t know, man. But how many more people gotta die?”
That was for damn sure. Zane, Harlow, Axton, Kemmerer, Escobal, Rimes. His six teammates who’d died in the ambush on that dirt road that day. Merritt, though he’d brought that shit on himself. If the surgery hadn’t worked out, Charlie might’ve been on that list, too. Might still, depending on how well he responded to the meds.
Molly.
Not that she’d died as a part of this fubar, but she was one more reason Shane refused to allow Crystal to be next. Or Jenna, because he knew enough to know that loss would devastate Crystal to her very core. But it wasn’t like he could drag them to Hard Ink against their will.
Given what he suspected about Crystal’s situation at Confessions and with Bruno, the idea of doing anything against Crystal’s will sat like a jagged rock in Shane’s gut.
“You talk to Jenna at all?” Shane asked as his thoughts churned.
“A little. This whole thing being the clusterfuck that it is, I checked the apartment when we got back. She gave me a little shit for that. And then she gave me a little more for planning to watch over the place until Crystal got home. And then a while later she came outside looking for me and gave me shit because she couldn’t find me right away.”
Shane arched a brow and slowed for a red light at an otherwise empty intersection. “What did she want?”
Easy cracked a slow grin. “To see what I was doing. I asked what part of covert she didn’t understand, and she turned around and stomped away, right before she looked back to ask if I needed to use the bathroom or anything.”
“What did you say?” Shane said, chuckling. Shane hadn’t gotten to spend much time with Jenna yet, but she seemed to have a feisty streak, part impetuousness, part fighter.
“I just stared at her until she rolled her eyes and went back in.” Easy rubbed his fingers over the hint of his smile on his lips.
Turning onto Hard Ink’s street, Shane imagined the look Easy had probably given her. The one so intense it made you want to apologize even though you hadn’t done anything. The one that had made the newbies in camp stammer and back away. And here it had just made Jenna annoyed.
Easy chuckled under his breath. “She was fine, though.”
Shane grinned, only too happy to turn the tables. “Interesting choice of words.”
“What?” Easy asked. “Aw, come on, man. You’re cracked out of your head. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Waiting for the fence to open and allow access into the Hard Ink lot, Shane nodded. “Sure, sure. Of course not.” But something had to explain the fact that Easy had said more on the subject of Jenna than on anything else since they’d reunited.
A fist lit into Shane’s biceps, and he couldn’t help but laugh through the ache. “Ouch, motherfucker. Don’t kill the goddamned messenger, now.” He pulled into a spot and killed the engine.
A satisfied smile on his face, Easy reached for the door.
“Hey, E?”
“Yeah?” he said, his smile fading.
Shane girded himself to give voice to what he’d learned—or what he was pretty sure he’d learned, anyway. He wanted the guys on his side if Crystal’s situation escalated because no way was he leaving her to fend for herself. If she’d have him, if she’d let him in, he’d want her by his side. And, for now, that meant at Hard Ink.
“What is it, Shane?” Easy said, all the humor gone from his voice.
“She’s got”—he swallowed, hard, just from the memory of her ruined flesh under his fingers—“she’s got scars all over her back.”
Easy went still. “What kind of scars?”
“I didn’t see them, but I felt them.” He finally looked at Easy, whose gaze narrowed and brow slashed down. “So I can’t be sure.”
“But?”
I’m pretty damn sure. “I think she’s been whipped.”
Easy’s expression was dark, lethal, rankly pissed off. “Then you need to do something about it. I’ll back you up, a hundred percent. However I can help, you just say the word.”
Shane gave a tight nod. He needed to keep himself buttoned up on this and not fly off the handle. He didn’t want to scare Crystal. He didn’t want to make the team doubt his objectivity. And he certainly didn’t want to do anything that might further jeopardize Crystal’s or Jenna’s safety.
“You need to come clean with the team on all this,” Easy said. “That’s the only way forward.”
“Yeah,” Shane said, feeling the lateness of the hour in every bone in his body. “Roger that.” Laying all this out there and trusting his team
mates with it was the right way to go. They’d have his back. They always had. “I will. First thing in the morning.”
Easy nodded, and they both shoved out of the truck. The decision invited a sort of peace into Shane’s psyche, calming at least a little the whirlwind of rage he’d felt since he’d discovered Crystal’s scars.
Inside Hard Ink, they made their way up the stairs, surprised to hear low voices coming from the gym.
Shane keyed in the code and followed Easy inside.
“Look, they threw a party and didn’t invite us,” Easy said, crossing the room.
What the hell was everyone doing up? Nick, Becca, Jeremy, and Beckett all sat around Marz, the only one in his street clothes from earlier in the night and still at work on the computer. Becca in pajamas, she and Nick were stretched out on a blue gym mat on the floor, Jeremy sat on a chair close to Marz, and Beckett reclined in one chair while he propped his feet up on another. Even Eileen was here, currently doing an impression of a fur ball curled up on the blanket covering Becca’s legs.
“No rest for the wicked,” Marz said, pulling an earbud from one of his ears. He glanced up from his monitors, a tired smile on his face.
“Everything okay with Charlie?” Shane asked.
Becca nodded from where she sat on the floor between Nick’s legs. “Yeah, thanks. I just couldn’t sleep for worrying about him.”
“That pretty much went for all of us,” Nick said. “Eventually, we all congregated over here rather than risk disrupting his sleep over at the apartment.”
Shane nodded. “Has he woken up yet?”
Becca smiled, and it was so good to see happiness brightening her face again. “Yeah. And his fever’s down, too.”
Beckett nodded. “We’d been overdue for some good news.”
Damn straight. Shane thumbed over his shoulder. “Is he due for a check? I could go look in on him.”
“No,” Marz said. “I set him up with a walkie-talkie. He’s lucid enough to give a shout if he needs something.”
“Besides, don’t you have some business here?” Easy asked, nodding at the group, a pointed expression on his face.
Right. No sense waiting for the morning with everyone up and at ’em now. Shane pulled a folding chair closer, sat, and rested his elbows on his knees. His head hung on his shoulders, and it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. The combination of exhaustion and worry and anger.
“What’s up, man?” Nick asked, concern clear in his tone.
Shane lifted his gaze and met Nick’s. No sense beating around the bush, not when most of the team already knew. “I’m falling for Crystal.” Despite the fact that he felt every pair of the eyes land on him at the same time, Shane resisted the urge to squirm or look away. He wasn’t used to hanging his laundry out for everyone to see—hell, he wasn’t used to having laundry of this kind at all, but he wasn’t ashamed of what he had to say, either.
Nick’s entire initial reaction involved a single lifted eyebrow, but Becca’s smile was big and immediate. She glanced around the room at the others, and Shane’s gaze followed. Marz wore a small smile and nodded like he approved of Shane’s admission. Jeremy frowned, like he wasn’t sure why Shane had made this a topic of general conversation. And Beckett’s expression remained a careful, serious blank. Easy stood at Shane’s side, a physical manifestation of the promise he’d made a few moments before in the truck.
“And?” Nick asked. Shane wasn’t surprised the man suspected there was more. Nick Rixey’s instincts were almost always spot-on, and Shane knew that was why the guy had been so hard on himself about Merritt’s deceit. But then, they’d all missed that, hadn’t they?
“And . . . things are complicated.” Shane tugged his hands through his hair and remembered the amazing sensation of Crystal’s hands stroking and pulling. “Here’s what I know: Someone is abusing her—probably this guy Bruno—”
“Oh right,” Marz said, retrieving a printout from a stack by his keyboard. “I looked into him while you were gone. Bruno Ashe. Age thirty-four. Known member of the Church Gang. Criminal record. Probable Apostle-level position according to the gang report Becca’s friend lent us last week.”
Shit. Why didn’t that surprise him? Shane nodded and counted off on his fingers. “Okay, so then, a senior Churchman is abusing and controlling her. She’s afraid to meet or talk in her own apartment. Today we overheard her tell her sister she had no choice but to work at Confessions, which is sounding more and more like she’s somehow being forced given Bruno’s position.” Shane shook his head. “And then tonight, I got her to open up a little. She admitted she knows Confessions is filled with gangbangers and drug dealers and killers. And she confirmed—again—that girls are falling down a black hole at Confessions and never being heard from again.”
“Oh, my God. That’s terrible,” Becca said. “This is the waitress who helped you all the other night?”
“Yeah,” Nick said, hugging Becca in against his stomach. He met Shane’s gaze, and Nick’s eyes were equal parts calculating and sympathetic. “I’m gonna say something, Shane, because it needs to be said. I’m not trying to be an asshole or to downplay what is clearly a horrendous situation that Crystal’s caught up in.”
Knowing what was likely coming, Shane gave a tight nod. Tension seemed to thicken the air around them, because they all knew where Nick was about to go—at least the team did.
“Molly,” Shane said, saving Nick the trouble.
“Molly,” Nick said with a nod.
Jeremy frowned and looked around. “Who’s Molly?”
“My kid sister,” Shane said, eyes back on Nick. “I’m not gonna lie. She’s never far from my mind, and this whole thing might’ve started out as a chance to make something right that I’d once gotten wrong, but that’s not what’s at play now.” Shane looked each of his teammates in the eye, wanting them to see his sincerity. “Nick.” Shane’s throat went tight, and he had to clear it. Twice. “I like Crystal. And, at some point—I don’t know when, she’s been whipped.”
Becca’s gasp joined the men’s low curses.
“Before this thing escalates, and she gets caught in the cross fire, I want to bring her here. If she’ll come.” Lacing his hands together, he waited for the blowback.
Nick inhaled to speak, but Jeremy beat him to it. “This is my house, Shane. I don’t know everything that’s going on, but I’m telling you right now that your friend is welcome, and if you need another pair of hands to pack up her stuff and move it over here, just name the time and place. Because what you just described is some major bullshit. And no one deserves to live like that.” Green eyes blazing, Jeremy crossed his arms and nailed Nick with a stare, silently daring him to challenge.
And just then, Jeremy Rixey became Shane’s brother in every way that mattered.
Nick nodded, anger making sharp angles of his face. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said in a tight voice.
The tension deflated from the room faster than a popped balloon. Relief flooded through Shane’s system. Part of him had been braced for a fight. The more people who stayed here, the more resources they required and the higher the vulnerabilities they possessed. He would’ve understood if the whole lot of them had come at him with a list of totally reasonable reservations.
But they’d been there for him. And Crystal.
“You realize she’s a package deal,” Easy said in a low voice from beside him. “Jenna?”
“Yeah,” Shane said. He suspected Jenna was going to be the sticking point for Crystal. But first things first. Get both of them to safety. And then figure out how to pick up the pieces. That is, if Crystal and Jenna agreed. And he feared it was a big if.
“Well, so were me and Charlie, but you all took us in,” Becca said. “I don’t see why that would make a difference. There’s plenty of room in this building, isn’t there?”
Jeremy nodded. “The apartment above ours has electricity and water. Bathroom’s in, and the drywall’s mostly up. Floors are
all cement, but . . .” He shrugged. “It ain’t pretty, but we could certainly buy a couple of beds for up there and let people spread out a little. It’s not like we’re using the space for anything else—”
“Hold up,” Marz said, gesturing for them to quiet down. He scooped the second earbud back to his ear, pressed his fingers against the little black bud, and leaned toward the monitor he’d been eyeing from time to time. “Say it louder, asshole,” he whispered to himself as he punched a sequence of keys. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his ears again. “Pier thirteen,” he said almost to himself, and then his gaze whipped up, wide and excited. “I got a voice saying ‘we’re on for Pier thirteen tonight.’”
Holy shit. Was Marz saying what Shane thought he was saying? “You got the location for the delivery?” Shane asked, moving around behind Marz’s chair. Easy and Beckett joined them, then Nick and Becca, until they were all crowded in together.
Marz’s hands flew over the keyboard of a laptop sitting off to the side, the only machine not engaged in the audio and video surveillance of Confessions. He typed in “Pier 13 Baltimore.” A listing of search results appeared on the monitor. Every one related to the same address on Newgate Avenue, at the northwestern end of the marine terminal.
Running one last search, Marz sat back, and the whole group of them watched as a satellite image of Pier 13 took shape on the screen.
“Right there’s where we’re headed, boys.” Marz pointed at the monitor, his tone victorious. “Right there is where we start to get some answers.”
“WHY, WHY, WHY?” Crystal murmured to herself as she peeked in on the bubbling pan of lasagna. Five more minutes, and it would be done. Which meant that she had no more than fifteen minutes before Bruno would be here for dinner. The one she’d invited him to the other night when she’d been trying to gather information about the big meeting at the marine terminal he had in a few hours.
Because she hadn’t wanted him to get suspicious of her questions. And she’d needed him to believe she wanted to spend time with him. And because she’d been trying to appease his anger about a man having been in the apartment.