Chapter Seven

Cade

I stand at the bottom of January's steps for a long time, trying to process her confession. There's so much to unpack there. I'm not even sure where to begin. All I know is that she still wants me. She thinks I stopped kissing her because I don't want her.

I only stopped because I knew if I didn't, I never would again.

I'm not good for her. She doesn't even understand how badly I fucked up back when it mattered. Back when it could have made a difference. I had the whole world in the palm of my hand, but I destroyed us all.

I pull my phone out of my pocket.

"Where you at?" Roman asks as soon as he answers. "You were supposed to be here half an hour ago."

"I'm…fuck. I can't help you tonight," I tell him, staring at January's front door like it holds the answers to all the important questions in the universe. "I can't leave her."

"January?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Tell me to walk away before I ruin her life," I say. I think I'm begging. Because if he doesn't talk me down, I'm not going to be strong enough to do it. And once she knows the truth, she'll realize I'm the last thing she needs, exactly like I told her. But she'll still be the only goddamn thing in this world that I need. Just like she always has been.

I've been living in the dark for years. She was the light in my life, the peace. All I want is to feel it again. So badly I'm not strong enough to resist the way it beckons me, whispering that everything will be just fine when I know damn well that it won't. Still…I need it. Even if it's just for a minute. Even if it can't last…I need it. Need her .

"I can't tell you what to do, Michael," Roman says. That's the first time he's ever called me by my first name. Hell, no one calls me by my first name. They haven't in years. It's one more fucking thing that hurts too goddamn badly. "But I will tell you that even if it's fucking hard, if you love her, finding a way to make it work is worth it. If she matters to you…it's worth it."

"Fuck." He's no help. Why did I think asking a man in love to throw me a life preserver would be a good idea? Of fucking course he's all rainbows and kittens. He's worthy of calling himself a cop, of being happy, and all that good shit. Me? Not so much.

I killed three people in cold blood, and I don't regret it. Don't regret any of the ones I've killed since then, either. Every single one since has been in the line of duty because this world is kill or be killed, and I didn't have a choice. But those three? Yeah, I could have walked away. I chose not to do it. Given the chance to do it over, I'd make the same decision.

I hang up the phone and shove it back into my pocket.

"Go help Roman like you said you would, deal with Kaleo, and leave January the fuck alone," I mutter to myself. But I don't listen. Of fucking course I don't. Because I'm a selfish bastard, and January is my goddamn kryptonite.

My hands shake as I jog up the wooden steps to her front door. The heavy wood rattles beneath my fist from the force of my knock. My mind screams at me to turn around and walk away. But then the door flies open, and she's standing there. She's so heartbreakingly beautiful with those bright green eyes filled to the brim with hope and her lips forming my name like a kiss.

I'm lost. Damned.

Please, God, don't let me destroy her , I pray silently. Don't let me ruin her life all over again.

"You're wrong," I blurt out, my pulse pounding so hard I'm sure she can probably hear it. "You think I don't want you, but I'm so fucking hard for you that it hurts. I've wanted nothing but you since the day I left. You think you weren't living without me? I was in hell without you. I'm still in hell." My breath comes in a desperate rasp, and my hands shake. My whole body is shaking. "Every goddamn day without you was torture, but I fucking loved the way it hurt because I didn't want to forget…to forget…"

"To forget what?" she whispers when I stumble over the words, not sure how to explain to her that even though she haunted me, I didn't want to forget her.

Because even when I didn't have her, even when I was certain I'd never step foot in this city again because I couldn't face being here without her…she still had me. She still had every fucking piece of me.

"To forget this," I rumble and stalk toward her. It takes two steps to cross the threshold. And one more before she's in my arms. I kick the door closed behind me and then haul her up against my chest.

As soon as she's in my arms, she goes wild. Her body wraps around mine, exactly like she was meant to fit me. Her hands go to my hair, her legs around my waist. Our mouths crash together with such need, such force, that our teeth clack together. I pour everything into our kiss, sucking her tongue into my mouth to steal her breath. I want her air in me, until each breath I take is full of nothing but her.

"Fuck," I swear, palming her plump ass and grinding her down on my aching cock when she bites my lip. She isn't gentle about it and I love that. Love knowing she's as desperate for me as I always have been for her.

Once upon a time, when she was in my arms like this, I was sweet and gentle. I took my time and worshipped her willing little body like she deserved. Sooner or later, I'll get around to doing it again. But right now, it isn't going to be like that. It was never fucking with her, and it won't be now, but it's going to be hard and fast and rough.

I turn us, putting her back to the door to hold her up.

Without taking my mouth from hers, I start tearing her clothes off. The fabric of her shirt rips and tears. I'll probably feel bad for ruining her shit later, but right now, it's standing between me and that body, and that's a motherfucking tragedy.

I think she agrees. Her breathy moans and the way she grinds against mine spurs me on, demanding I move faster, get us skin to skin right goddamn now . I do my best to give her what she demands with every impatient wriggle of her hips.

"Fuck, baby girl," I groan when we have to break apart to breathe. I bury my face in her throat, filling my lungs full of her familiar scent. She still smells so innocent. Her skin is both sweet and salty on my tongue…the best of both worlds.

"Cade, please," she pleads, attacking my neck with her teeth.

A loud growl rips from my chest when she bites me. I buck my hips and then separate from her just enough to rip her leggings down her body. The worn and faded material tears just like her shirt did, ripping along the seams. She hisses like a little kitten when I have to pull back to get them down her legs. Her panties go with them.

"Cade!" she shouts when I thrust two fingers inside her.

She's so tight, so wet…I think I might actually cry because I can't eat her out and fuck her at the same damn time. How's a man supposed to survive without doing both at once when that bare pussy demands both?

"Do you still remember what I feel like inside you, baby girl?" I ask, my voice so thick with need it's almost unrecognizable. I twist my fingers, rubbing against her G-spot and making her shout my name and buck her hips. A grin tips my lips up, satisfaction roaring through me. She was always responsive to me. All I had to do was touch her and she was ready to go off like a cannon. "You still make yourself come thinking about how I used to make you so crazy you'd beg me to slide inside this tight pussy?"

"Yes!" she screams, her inner walls clamping down around my fingers.

I don't want her coming yet. Not until I'm balls deep inside her. When she comes, I want to feel it all over my cock. It probably won't calm my ass down or make me need her any less, but it'll feel fucking magical, and that's good enough for me.

"Cade, I need to come. Please," she begs me when I slide my fingers from inside her. The pout on her lips would be adorable, but my girl hasn't had me to take care of her in seven damn years and she's hurting for it.

I intend to fix it for her.

"You're going to come. But you're going to ride my fucking face like a good girl first, January," I growl, dropping to my knees on the floor. I balance her on my shoulders, spreading her legs wider. Her pink pussy is right there at face level. So sweet. So fucking wet.

I blow across her clit.

"Cade!"

"Has anyone touched what belongs to me, January?" I ask, flicking my tongue out to bat her clit. "Do I have to fucking kill anyone for putting their hands where they don't fucking belong, little monster?"

"N-no," she groans. "God, no. It was always you."

I figured as much, but I had to hear her say it. Maybe that makes me a dick. I don't know. Right now, I don't fucking care.

"It's always been you too," I rasp, claiming her cunt with my mouth. I seal my lips over her sweet slit and suck her like she's my lifeblood. Because she fucking is. She's the only thing that's ever kept me breathing.

My eyes threaten to roll back in my head at having her taste on my tongue once more. It's even better than I remember. She tastes like she smells…like sugar and sin.

"Cade!" she screams again, her voice echoing in the quiet room as I thrust my tongue into her tight hole and fuck her with it. She tastes like heaven and sin wrapped into one delicious package.

Her hands find purchase in my hair, yanking at the roots as she rides out the pleasure. I let out a satisfied grunt around her clit, lavishing it with attention.

I lick and suck at her until she's quivering on me. Her pussy is pulsing and squeezing my tongue as if trying to pull me deeper. Her nails dig into my scalp, trying to hold on while I send wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her.

"I... Oh God... Cade!" she gasps, bouncing against my face as I continue to tease and torture her. Her legs start to shake uncontrollably as she nears that edge.

I drive two fingers into her cunt while still assaulting her clit with my tongue. That's all it takes—just one more thrust and a flick of my tongue and she's drenching my face.

I roar against her pussy, drinking down every fucking drop. My free hand drops to my pants, ripping at the button.

I nearly sob with relief as I rip the zipper down and shimmy my jeans off my hips. My gun falls to the floor with a thunk , reminding me that it's there. I'm so lost in her I forgot all about it.

I drag her down into my arms, wrapping her legs around my hips again. Fucking desperate to get inside her.

My cock bumps her clit and I forget all about the gun. I forget about everything but her and how perfect she is with her head thrown back against the door and my name on her lips. They're swollen from my kisses and her cheeks are flushed. Those bright emerald eyes are dilated with lust as she stares at me, silently commanding me to get my shit together and get in her.

My body is hers to command.

"Hold on tight," I warn her, running my cock through her juices. Christ, she's soaked for me. I bet when she comes this time, she's going to drip down my balls.

Her nails dig into my shoulder blades as I line myself up with her pussy.

"I'm not going to last," I mumble. My balls are already drawn up and aching for release just from sliding through her sticky juices. There's no way I'm going to last once she's wrapped around me, squeezing me tight. "It's been seven years. I'm not going to last. Fuck. I'll make it up to you."

Before she can say anything, I thrust into her, not stopping until I'm balls deep.

"Cade!" she screams, her voice so loud it echoes around the room.

Heaven. I've died and gone to heaven. Jesus did me a solid and opened the Pearly Gates. I don't know why—maybe he mixed me up with some other motherfucker—but I'm in heaven. There's no way this kind of paradise exists on earth.

"Fuck, little monster," I groan, just holding her on my cock because I literally cannot move. If I do, I'm going to die for real, and that'd be a goddamn tragedy too. I can't die yet. She hasn't even come on my cock. "Thought I remembered how good you felt with that pussy wrapped around my cock. Dreamed about it every night for years, but I was wrong. This is so much better. Fuck , January."

"Cade," she moans. "You feel so good. Oh God. Please. I need you."

"You have me, baby girl. You've always had me." I press my forehead to hers, trying to keep it together and keep from coming right here and now. Trying not to cry because this is perfection. I don't deserve it, but it's perfect and she's mine and somehow, I'm going to find a way to keep her. "Missed you so goddamn much."

"I missed–" She breaks off with a loud groan when I lift her off me and then drop her back down. Her nails dig deeper into my back.

I hope they mark me deep enough to scar. I want a reminder of this moment embedded in my skin so when I look in the mirror, I see her.

Hell, I already see her when I look in the mirror. I had her etched into my skin years ago. Every year, I etch her deeper. I'm covered in her, memories of her screaming at me in ink and color from tattoo after tattoo. One for every birthday I missed. Another for every anniversary I wasn't by her side.

I won't miss any more. Even if it kills me, even if I die trying, I'll find a way to be worthy of her.

I bounce her up and down on my cock, moaning each time she takes all of me. She's so small, and I'm big and hard everywhere. You'd think we wouldn't fit together, but she was made to take this dick. It was made for her pussy. Only hers. Always hers.

"You like how fucking good that feels, January?"

She cries out my name again, wiggling and moaning. Pleasure is stamped across each delicate feature of her face, blazing so hot it's like staring into the sun. I feel like a god as I fuck her, my hand wrapped around her throat, my lip between my teeth, and my eyes half-mast.

Her body responds to me like it knows who it belongs to…like it's been waiting for me to come back and claim it. I do, pounding into her so hard she'll feel me for days. She'll smile every time she remembers how hard I took her. When she slides that little hand into her panties in the dark and touches herself next time, she'll think about this.

I yank the cups of her bra down, exposing those luscious tits to my greedy gaze. They're obscene and perfect…pert and bouncy with big pink nipples made for my mouth. I pull one between my teeth and bite down.

Her pussy contracts around my cock, another breathy cry of pleasure leaving her lips.

"That's it, little monster," I growl. "Let me hear how fucking good you feel."

"So good," she whimpers, writhing on me. "God, Cade. I forgot how fucking good it was."

I lick and bite and suck her tits until her nipples are red and my marks are all over her. The sight has my cock aching for release.

"I need you to come, baby girl," I tell her, bouncing her harder. Her tits jiggle and shake in my face. I have to bury my face between them for a minute. They demand it. "You gotta come, sweetheart. I need that pussy soaking me when I go off."

"Cade," she whimpers and writhes. Her pussy contracts on me, her inner walls rippling up and down my length.

"Goddammit, January," I growl, throwing my head back in ecstasy. I squeeze her throat. "Fucking come or I'm spanking your ass before I eat that pussy."

"Cade!" she screams and comes all over me. She thrashes and wails, trying to push me off and pull me closer at the same time. Her pussy clamps down on me.

I roar her name as my own climax rips through me, tearing me apart. My heart stops beating for a second. My mind empties, the capacity for thought vanishing as her pussy milks my cock for every drop. I give it to her, pumping into her and roaring her name until I can't breathe.

When my cock finally stops spilling into her, she's splayed across the door, her pussy still fluttering around me. Her hair is a sweaty mess and her cheeks are pink. She's wrecked and even more perfect than before.

I open my mouth to tell her I love her, that I never stopped loving her and never will. But I can't form the words. I'm not sure she's ready to hear them and I'm suddenly terrified if I say it, she'll realize I don't deserve her. She'll kick my sorry ass out of here.

I won't survive that this time.

So I swallow the confession back and press the words into her skin instead. Three little kisses on the side of her throat, right where her pulse pounds. One for each word I don't say, whispered directly to her heart.

January falls asleep with a sated smile on her lips. She looks so perfect my chest aches. With a groan, I lift her pliant body away from the door and wrap her up in my arms. She snuggles into me with a content sigh. I stumble down the hall to her bedroom.

With the exception of the pale pink walls, the room isn't the same as I remember. She's replaced her double bed and girly sheets for a queen-sized sleigh bed and soft blue-gray bedding. Her awards and achievements have been stripped from the walls, replaced by framed photos that blare evidence of her sorrow into the dark. They're supposed to be inspirational, reminders to keep going, to never give up, to fight like hell. Each shouts louder than the words they contain of how hard the last seven years have been for her. Every one of them makes my heart bleed.

I should have been here to take care of her, to make sure she wasn't alone. Instead, I was hiding in Seattle, buried so far under the persona I adopted to survive that I don't even know who I am most of the time. When I look in the mirror, I don't see her Cade anymore. I don't see Michael anymore. I killed him little by little, smothering him beneath years of hard living. I'm Kincaid now…the only son of a bitch crazy enough to stroll into the middle of gang territory and declare himself judge, jury, and executioner.

By the time Jason Ames found me, I was already dragging motherfuckers a lot like Kaleo into Seattle PD and handing them and evidence of their crimes over to whatever wide-eyed officer was unlucky enough to be stuck on desk duty at the time.

Then – Age Twenty-Three

"Man, this is bullshit."

"Shut the fuck up," I mutter and grab the prick by his collar, yanking him closer to me when he starts to drift away like he's looking for an opportunity to run. I'm twice his size and have already caught him twice after his stupid ass tried to run from me.

He's still breathing hard from his last attempt, but I'm barely winded. I grew up winning track meets before I went overseas. I could do this shit with him all night. I think he knows it too. He curses again and tries to yank his arm out of my hold without any real force. I tighten my grip anyway, practically dragging him up the sidewalk to the double doors of Seattle Police Department's Southwest Precinct office.

The sky is a bleak shade of gray, heavy with dark clouds stretching as far as the eye can see. The wind whips through the air, blowing leaves and trash across the already wet pavement. The rain is a hazy curtain in the distance, slowly creeping closer.

I just want to get this over with and get inside before the next monsoon hits. In Los Angeles, the sun always shines and the smog never recedes. My time in Syria was dry, hot, and humid. Seattle is nothing like either place. When summer blew out a week ago, the rain blew in.

I'm already fucking tired of it.

The kid mutters under his breath, calling me a fucking cocksucker.

"Shut the fuck up and walk," I tell him, tired of his shit.

"Fuck you," he growls at me, his voice changing pitch halfway through as if he's still going through puberty. "You ain't no fucking cop."

He's right. I'm not a cop. In jeans and a hoodie with three days of scruff on my face and my hair all fucked up, I couldn't pass for a fucking cop if I tried. Even on a good day, I don't look like the type of motherfucker you want to hand a badge and a gun. I'm not sure why the fuck they put a gun in my hand overseas, honestly. I'm more like this kid than even he knows, but it doesn't change anything.

He's still going to jail and I'm still the one marching his stupid ass there.

Calvin Titus may only be twenty-one, but he's a mean son of a bitch. He's been robbing old ladies and little kids for years.

Six days ago, he left a seventy-three-year-old in a coma after beating the man with his own cane. Seattle PD has been looking for the man's assailant ever since, but didn't have a clue who he was or where to find him.

Lucky for them, I did. Titus spends his afternoons outside the local elementary school with a few of his boys, slinging dope to fifth and sixth graders. If Seattle doesn't screw up all my hard work, he won't be doing that again anytime soon.

"Man, let me go," he says when I shoulder open the doors to the precinct and push my way inside with him still in my grip. "I got rights."

"So did Thomas Chandler," I growl, yanking him forward by the arm when he plants his feet and refuses to budge.

The pudgy cop on desk duty looks up from his phone, his bushy brows climbing toward his hairline as his gaze runs over me and then Titus. He doesn't make a move to help me with the kid.

"Mind giving me a hand here?" I snap when Titus grabs onto the edge of the door and clings like that's going to save his scrawny ass.

The cop glances between us, his eyes wide, and then hurries around the chest-high desk to help me. Titus fights like hell, trying to free himself from my iron grip. All he manages to do is tear his shirt and earn himself a hard elbow to the ribs.

"Son of a bitch," the pudgy cop growls when Titus knees him in the balls. He locks his beefy arm around the kid's neck and sweeps his feet out from underneath him, taking him to the ground.

Titus thrashes and curses, calling me and the cop every name in the book.

I just shake my head and position myself in front of the doors in case he manages to break loose and tries to make a run for it.

The cop kneels beside him and wrestles him into submission before slapping cuffs on him. Titus yells and curses the entire time, but when the cop threatens to tase him if he doesn't shut up, the kid snaps his mouth closed.

"Mind telling me what the fuck this is about?" the cop finally asks, looking up at me. He's breathing hard, sweat dripping down his forehead. His face is bright red, which I'm guessing is half from exertion and half because he's pissed.

"That's Calvin Titus," I mutter, pointing at the kid before reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone. "This is a video of him selling pot outside the elementary school today. And if you check his pockets, you'll find Thomas Chandler's wallet and car keys."

The cop's brows crinkle, confusion overtaking his expression.

"For fuck's sake." I shove a hand through my hair to push it away from my forehead. "Thomas Chandler's the old guy who got mugged over on South Sullivan last week. Titus here stole his wallet and his car. Luckily enough for you, Officer"—I glance at the name bar tacked on his uniform shirt— "Johnson, Titus is a dumb son of a bitch. He parked the car outside his grandmama's house instead of ditching it. What's your phone number?"

"My phone number?" Officer Johnson gapes at me.

I roll my eyes toward the ceiling and count to three, searching for a little bit of patience. Every damn time I drag one of these motherfuckers in here, Seattle's finest act like they don't know what to do with them. They're cops. The people I bring in are criminals. Seems pretty fucking obvious to me.

Johnson must realize I'm not in the mood to have to spell it out for him because he quickly rattles off his phone number. I plug it into my phone and send him the video of Titus and his buddies outside the school before tucking my phone back into my pocket.

"What's your name?" Johnson asks me.

"Kincaid."

"You a bounty hunter or something?"

"Something," I mutter, not giving him anything more than that. "Check his pockets."

Johnson pats Titus down before pulling out the wallet and keys in question, as well as a baggie of crack rocks. His eyes widen when he flips open the wallet and sees Thomas Chandler's driver's license and credit cards.

"Motherfucker," he mutters, glancing up at me and then back down at Titus. "You're under arrest, kid."

"I want a lawyer!" Titus yells like that's going to save him. Guess he didn't get the memo that shit doesn't work in the real world like it does on television.

Johnson lumbers to his feet, shoves Titus's shit into his pocket, and hoists the kid to his feet using the cuffs on his wrists. Titus keeps up the theatrics until Johnson threatens to tase him if he doesn't knock it off.

Titus shuts his mouth, choosing to glare daggers at me instead.

"You're going to pay for this," he swears like some fucking Bond villain. "As soon as I get out, I'm coming for you."

I shrug, not really giving a shit if he makes good on that promise or not. He's not the first one that's said something similar to me since I rolled into Seattle. Doubt he'll be the last.

Frankly, I don't give a fuck if he comes for me or not. When you've got nothing left to lose, threats don't mean a whole hell of a lot. Way I see it, if he does make good on his threat someday, he'll be doing my sorry ass a favor.

"I've got questions. Stay put," Johnson orders me before marching Titus around the edge of the desk and into a cell.

"Yep," I lie.

As soon as he's out of sight, I head out.

I'm not even halfway down the street when the rain starts.

I fucking hate Seattle. But it's not like I can go back to Los Angeles, so I guess this is home now.

Fuck, I miss Los Angeles.

No, I miss her.

January.

Her gorgeous face swims to the surface of my mind, her big emerald eyes red-rimmed and haunted. Her normally lustrous blonde hair hangs limp and lifeless around her, that happy glow of hers long gone. She stares at me accusingly, tears slipping down her porcelain cheeks. Even devastated, she's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.

Too goddamn bad she can't stand the sight of me.

You said you'd always protect me, but you didn't. You're a liar.

I press the heel of my hand to my chest, trying to rub away the way it aches, but it doesn't do a damn bit of good. There is no peace in my future. No forgiveness. No happily ever after.

"Michael Kincaid."

A man steps out from beneath an awning into the middle of the sidewalk, planting his feet apart.

I draw to a stop and eye him. He's my height, with hard green eyes and blond hair. Even dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he's got cop written all over him. The bulge under his shirt is obvious—his gun.

I consider telling him that he's got the wrong motherfucker but decide against it. After the shit I did, I honestly didn't expect to make it out of Los Angeles without being scooped up. Somehow, I made it all the way to Syria and back.

If he's here to arrest me now, I guess that's his prerogative.

"That's me," I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You found Calvin Titus."

I don't answer him.

"You also found Whitey Banks, Rocky Jackson, and Hector Alvarez."

"Who the fuck are you?" I ask, not sure I like that he knows so much of my business. I haven't exactly been discreet about carrying gang members and bikers in off the streets, but I've tried to keep my name out of it as much as possible, giving only my last name and nothing else. Figured it was easier that way.

"Jason Ames," he says.

"The name means exactly dick to me," I tell him. "Who do you work for?"

"The DEA."

"You're a Fed?"

He nods.

Well, fuck my life.

"What do you want?" I ask, a hell of a lot more wary than I was five seconds ago. If he's a Fed, I'm guessing he's probably not here for a friendly chat. Either he knows what I did before I left Los Angeles…or they've had enough of me stepping on their toes here.

"To talk."

"About what?"

"You."

"That's real helpful," I mutter, annoyed by his one-word responses. Hell, I'm annoyed by life in general these days. Everything pisses me off. "You plan to string together some actual sentences tonight or is that not on the agenda?"

He eyes me for another minute, his face set in hard lines. He's a stoic son of a bitch, but I've gotten good at reading people. It's all about the eyes. His are full of frustration and genuine curiosity. He doesn't know what to make of me, and I don't think he likes that much.

I find that oddly comforting.

"Why'd you bring in Titus?" he finally asks.

"Why not?" I respond, shrugging.

He cocks his head to the side and arches a brow, silently demanding an explanation. I'm not sure I have one for him, though. I've spent my entire life dealing with motherfuckers like Titus. I know him because I was him for half my fucking life.

My crew wasn't one-percenters, but I did what the fuck I had to do to protect January. My hands aren't clean. And I dealt with the motherfuckers often enough.

Since I can't go back to Los Angeles, I might as well put my knowledge to use. I've got shit else to do in this city. Why not help deal with their gang problem? It's not like the cops are making much headway with it, despite all their claims to the contrary.

"You know you've got close to 200 gangs, cartels, and MCs in this city?" I ask Ames instead of telling him all of that. I'm not in a sharing mood.

He jerks his chin in a nod.

"A kid died in a shootout at a mall not even a year ago. Everyone was all riled up about it, so you amped up patrols, took down a few bad guys, tore down the project, and patted yourselves on the backs," I say, shoving my hands into my pockets and moving closer to the building as the rain picks up. "Now you think because fewer people are dying, you're doing a good job, but you're wrong."

"How so?" he asks, ignoring the rain like every other motherfucker in this city seems to do.

I'm not sure if he's just humoring me or not, but I give it to him straight. "Because last year, you had 150 crews operating in this city, and most of that activity was condensed in a smaller area. Now you've got 200, and they're spread all over the place. You didn't solve the problem. All you did was give it a reason to move elsewhere. By this time next year, your problem is going to be even bigger and even more widespread."

Taking away their territory is pointless. They pick up and move out, sure. But when they do, they take their beliefs and associations somewhere else. They don't stop what they're doing. They don't stop dealing or beefing with other crews. They just find new places to create problems and new buddies to recruit to the cause. 150 crews become 200, and then 300. And all those new crews carve out names for themselves the same way the others did.

And that's what cops don't get.

They think if they sweep in and push people out, they'll give up and go straight. The problem dies down for a while, and they think they won some big battle...right up until the shit hits the fan and an all-out war pops off in some other part of the city they weren't even looking at. Then they stand around scratching their heads, wondering how the fuck that shit happened.

It happens because they let it. They should have learned that by now, but they haven't.

"You're right," Ames says, surprising the hell out of me. He shoots me a look full of grudging admiration. I think I even detect a hint of respect in his tone. "This time next year, the situation will be worse than it was last year. But that doesn't explain why you're out here dragging gang and MC members in off the streets."

"Someone has to do it," I mutter, not bothering to tell him my sordid life story. Not telling him about her . Some shit is better left alone. "And no offense to you because I don't know shit about you, but in my experience, most of you don't give a flying fuck about gangs and MCs until their shit spills over and dirties up your pretty neighborhoods and fancy malls. You're too goddamn afraid to give a shit."

Ames arches a brow but doesn't seem pissed by my truth bomb. I say what the hell and keep talking.

"You want to fix the problem?"

Ames nods.

"Put people on the streets who know how the fuck that type of life works. Give them the resources they need to do what needs to be done, and then let them do it. Because guys like Calvin Titus and Whitey Banks aren't fucking scared of cops. They never will be, not when they know you're so fucking afraid of them."

I don't stick around to see what else he has to say. Instead, I take off down the street, leaving him standing there.

He tracked me down at my place the next morning and had me in Quantico a month later. Figured they'd have fired my ass a long time ago, but turns out…I'm also the only son of a bitch on their payroll most of these motherfuckers will talk to.

I've been shot, stabbed, and beaten so many times I feel like Rasputin. Death would have been easy compared to the shit I've seen and done, but so long as January was alive…I wasn't willing to take the easy way out. I fought like hell to survive each and every time someone crept out of the shadows to try to take me down.

I came back like a fucking demon and ripped their shit apart every damn time they tried.

I'm the thing lurking in the dark that even the monsters are afraid of. I should have been here instead, taking care of my girl, but I didn't deserve that privilege then.

I deserve it even less now.

"I'm so fucking sorry, baby girl," I whisper, brushing my lips across her temple. Pulling her comforter and top sheet back, I lay her in the bed. It takes all the self-control I possess to keep myself from stripping the rest of my clothes off and crawling in beside her. But I can't do that yet. Until I deal with Kaleo, someone has to keep an eye on her property.

She said she was willing to die for it, but I will never let that happen. If either of us is going to bleed for her home, it'll be me. I owe her that much.

She mumbles my name in her sleep, a little furrow between her brows.

I smooth it out with my finger and then tuck the blankets around her.

"I'll be back soon," I promise her. And then I carry my ass out of her room before I lose the willpower to leave at all.

Unlike her bedroom, the rest of the house hasn't changed much. I carefully avoid looking at the door across the hall, or the one just down from that. Instead, I keep my eyes on the floor until I'm in the living room.

Her furniture is different. The leather sofa is deep and plush, even though it's worn. The flat screen TV hanging on the wall is new. Unless she's changed more than I know, I doubt it gets much use. She was never big on watching television, preferring to read instead.

That was one of the things I always loved most about her. She read every book she could get her hands on. Watching her get lost in a story fascinated me. When she was little, she'd bring me and Titan her story books and ask us to read to her. She was so cute with those big emerald eyes and that hopeful expression. I never told her no. Even if she asked me to read The Monster at the End of This Book fifteen times in a row, I never refused. She would clap her hands and hide her face and giggle through the entire book, no matter how many times I read it to her.

I loved every second of it.

When she learned to read for herself, I missed being the one to make her so fucking happy. I'd find a reason to be near her, just so I could watch her cute little face. She was so expressive when she read, her emotions blazing right there on those delicate features. I ate it up.

I think I fell in love with books because of her. Because they gave me an excuse to talk to her. I got to share something with her that she loved.

It's been a long time since I allowed myself to pick up a book. Words hurt when the woman I wanted to share them with was two states away.

Family photographs are scattered around the living room. I avoid looking too closely at those. Instead I fasten my jeans, check my gun to make sure I didn't fuck it up when it fell, and then I slip out the front door, locking it behind me. I already stole the hid-a-key she had in the carport. It was in the same damn spot it was when we were growing up. I told myself I only took it so no one else found it, but that was bullshit. I took it because I didn't want her to be able to keep me out.

The wind has picked up, sending clouds rolling quickly through the night sky. Half the streetlights are out on the block, leaving most of it in thick shadows. I pull out my phone and send myself a reminder to ride someone's ass about getting them fixed.

If January's going to stay here, she's going to be safe. With Kaleo trying to run her off, I don't want him to have any place to hide. If he comes near her, I want to see him coming so I can kill him. Part of me wants to do exactly that right now. But I'm not stupid. He might be, but he's also careful. He's just jonesing for a reason to spill my secrets.

When my sins come to light, it won't be because they were spoken from his lips. Not if I have any say in the matter.

I make my way around January's house, checking to make sure it's secure. She replaced the screen Trey pulled off her window, but it's not going to keep out anyone who really wants inside. Neither are the flimsy locks on the windows. She needs bars over them and bulletproof glass. I'm not na?ve enough to believe she'll let me install either. She'll fight me the whole damn way, throwing a fit about the money.

She doesn't know that I can easily afford it. I never got a chance to spill that truth.

Frowning, I pull out my phone and make a call.

"Hey, boss man."

"Kincaid?" Ames says, sounding like I woke him up.

"You're asleep before ten? What the fuck?"

His annoyed sigh speaks volumes. He's been working his ass off since Tristan's wife was kidnapped.

"I need a favor."

"What do you need?" Ames asks.

"I need surveillance equipment."

"What kind of surveillance equipment?"

I pretend not to hear the suspicion in his voice. "I don't know," I huff, rolling my eyes. "The kind that surveils shit. Cameras and night vision and all that bullshit."

His silence speaks even more volumes than his sighs do.

"It's important," I tell him. "Lives might literally depend on it."

"Fuck," he mumbles. "Fine. I'll see what I can do. I'm guessing you want this off the record?"

"If I had a warrant, I wouldn't need surveillance equipment, Ames." Not that he'd be any more likely to give it to me then, either. You use a surveillance camera one time to take a selfie with a group of strippers, and suddenly, you're not allowed to have cameras without permission.

Not my fault my mark was living it up in a strip club. Or that the girls thought I was there to party. It wasn't exactly a fun time for me. One of those chicks stalked me for weeks. I had to arrest her crazy ass to get her to leave me the fuck alone.

"Should I be worried about this?" Ames asks in that no-bullshit tone he likes to use when he knows damn well whatever I'm up to probably isn't something he wants to know about but feels like he should know anyway. The man isn't big on surprises. He likes to be prepared in case things turn into a shit show.

"Don't know yet," I reply honestly. "Curtis Kaleo is up to some bullshit. I'm going to stop him."

He hits me with another of those loud silences.

"It's important."

"If you get yourself arrested, I'm going to be pissed."

"Well, then, that'll be two of us," I mutter. "Orange isn't my color."

"Motherfucker. I'll see what I can do," he sighs.

"Thanks, boss man."

He's quiet for a minute. "You doing okay, Kincaid? I know being here isn't a walk in the park for you. If you need to talk to someone–"

"You can stow that shit, Ames. I'm not talking to a fucking shrink." Every damn time I got shot or stabbed or jumped those first few years, Ames dragged my ass in to see the psychologist to talk about my feelings and all that bullshit. They tried the same thing with Tristan once, but he told them to get fucked and fire him because he wasn't going. They didn't fire him, so now I do the same shit. To be honest, I'm kinda pissed I didn't think of doing that first. Could have saved myself and the shrink a lot of wasted time. "Besides, I'm fine."

"Right," Ames says with a snort. How one dude can convey so much with so few words, I do not know, but he's a pro at it. It's impressive. Annoying as all hell, but impressive.

"Let me know when I can pick up my shit," I mutter and then hang up before he can say anything else.

I like Ames, but I'm not talking about January or how I feel or what I'm thinking or any of that. It's no one's business but my own. The less they know, the better off they are if Kaleo does manage to hang me out to dry.

Once I'm certain no one's lurking around my girl's place, I run over to Ma Lucia's to change my clothes. They smell like January and I don't want to lose that scent, but I don't want any other motherfucker smelling her all over me either. I might have to kill someone for that. The smell of her arousal is mine. Only mine.

I spend the next two hours stalking Kaleo's people. It's depressingly easy. He keeps his supply at the clubhouse. His people pick it up from there and then slip out the door, looking around like they expect the police to run up on them at any second.

If he were smarter, he'd send them somewhere else to pick up the goods and keep his hands clean. But he likes to be in control. No one has ever accused him of being the brightest crayon in the box, but he knows enough to dole out small amounts of crack and pot to his plugs.

When they get busted with it, he loses very little and then ropes someone else into playing the same game.

How the hell he's managed to avoid doing serious time, I don't know. He gets off with a slap on his wrist every time he gets busted.

Then again, the cops around here have bigger fish to fry right now. Despite his opinion to the contrary, Kaleo is a little fish in a big pond. His territory has grown over the years, but it's still small fries compared to what other crews hold.

Sad fact is, sometimes it's easier to keep people like Kaleo in place and deal with the devil you know than to risk bringing him down and letting the devil you don't take over.

The first few who come and go are in their mid-twenties, wearing Grecian Guardian cuts. The fourth is maybe twenty. All old enough to know better, at least. But when a fucking teenager slips out of the clubhouse, his eyes wide and fearful as he hauls ass down the block, I've seen enough.

Before he gets far, I slip around the side of the warehouse across the street and cut across an alley to catch up to him.

"Shit!" the kid yelps when I materialize out of the shadows at the end of the block.

"Didn't your mama ever tell you to be home when the streetlights come on?" I ask him, planting myself in his path and crossing my arms. "It's almost one in the morning, and you're what? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

"I was studying late," he lies, crossing his arms over his chest like he's not afraid of me. His blue eyes tell a different story though. They're wide and panicky.

Bad news for him, but they're about to get a hell of a lot worse.

"Right. And I'm not a DEA agent," I mutter.

"Fuck," the kid whispers, his eyes getting even wider…just like I said. With red hair and freckles, he looks like fucking Raggedy Andy.

I pull my badge out and show it to him.

He rocks on his heels, peeking over my shoulder like he's thinking about making a run for it.

"You can try, but I'm a hell of a lot faster than I look. You won't make it ten feet before I tackle your ass," I warn him and then shrug. "Knock yourself out if you feel like it though. The fleeing charges will be a bitch, but do what you gotta do, kid."

His shoulders slump and he stops fidgeting.

"Good choice. What's your name?"

"Liam Bradley."

"Liam, you slinging for Kaleo?"

He avoids my gaze, which is answer enough.

"Empty your pockets."

"Fuck, man," he grumbles and then, wisely, does as I ask. He's got about two dozen Z-bars and as many Adderall pills in two baggies. He's also got about a quarter of pot.

"Kaleo hook you up with this shit?" I ask him.

He shrugs and clenches his jaw.

"I can cuff you now and take you in, or you can tell me what I want to know. Your choice." I pull out my phone and the handcuffs I had the foresight to bring with me and dangle them from my finger.

"He'll kill me if I talk," Liam whispers, licking his lips.

"Not if he doesn't know."

His eyes snap to mine.

I shrug a shoulder. "Tell me what I want to know, we'll work something out."

"You won't tell him it was me?" he asks.

"I won't tell him," I confirm.

Liam thinks about it for another minute and then nods. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

"Who's running with Kaleo these days?"

"Just guys from around here," he says, being evasive to avoid snitching on his friends. But I don't give a shit about what his buddies are up to right now. That's not the info I'm after.

"Who are his enforcers? Corey Love? Micah Pettus? Dante Griggs?"

"Nah, man. Corey got sent down for murder years ago," Liam says. "Micah died a few years back. Dirty D's still around. And Quan."

"Quan? Jaquan Oglesby?"

Lim nods.

Christ. Quan.

Why the fuck is he running with Kaleo?

Guess I'll have to find him and ask.

"Who else?"

"I guess Bennie Bones, maybe?" Liam doesn't sound sure. Doesn't look it either. "He comes and goes."

Well, fuck me. Seems Kaleo's dirtier than I thought if he's fucking around with Bones. Bennie Bones is a Blood, one of the biggest gangbangers in Los Angeles. He's been in and out of prison for longer than I've been alive.

"What's Kaleo have you guys slinging these days? Aside from this shit," I say, shaking the baggies in my hands.

"Crack and heroin, but I don't mess with that shit, man. I just hook up some of the kids at school who need to mellow out or stay up for tests or whatever," Liam says real quick.

"He into guns or girls?"

"Sometimes," Liam mumbles, avoiding my gaze.

"How old are the girls?" I ask, not liking the way he refuses to look at me.

"I don't know. Twenties? They're mostly sweet butts who want to be there."

"Mostly?"

He shrugs, his jaw clamped tight.

"Anyone younger?"

He avoids my gaze.

"Don't bullshit me, Liam. If the club is running girls against their will, it's called human trafficking. You'll go down just like the rest of them. Doesn't fucking matter how old you are," I mutter, laying out the cold, hard truth. "You don't get to deny people basic human fucking rights and walk away from it unscathed. If they're underage, it's going to be a whole lot fucking worse for you. Your best option is to fucking cooperate."

"Fuck," he whispers, trembling. "He has a couple who are fifteen or sixteen, maybe."

Rage rips through me hot and fast.

That dirty motherfucker is running teenagers. Goddammit.

I shouldn't have left him alive back then. I should have killed his sorry ass before I left town.

I clench my jaw, fighting back the wave of fury rolling through me. "You know the girls?"

Liam shakes his head.

"Let me see your phone," I order, holding out my hand.

He eyes me for a second and then pulls his phone out and unlocks it before dropping it into my outstretched hand, his eyes wary.

"You're going to find out who they are," I tell him, plugging my number into his phone under the name Grover. If Kaleo checks his phone, which is doubtful, he'll be straight. Grover means nothing to Kaleo. "When you do, call Grover."

"Man, I don't know…"

"You want to go to jail?" I bark at him.

He shakes his head.

"Then find out and call me." I hand his phone back to him before pulling a stack of bills out of my pocket. Quickly calculating the street value of his supply, I peel off enough to cover the cost and hold it out toward him. "Here, take this."

He glances at the money and then at me.

"You want him to know you're talking to the DEA or not?" I ask, shaking it at him. He's not getting the drugs back. He can either take the money for them, or he can figure out how to explain to Kaleo that he doesn't have his drugs or his money.

Liam's smarter than he looks. He takes the money with a muffled curse.

"If he asks, you sold his shit to some little bastard with more money than brains," I instruct and shove the baggies into my pocket along with my cell. I tip my head to the side, silently telling him to get the fuck outta here.

He studies me for another minute and then beats feet. I watch him go, fucking seething with fury.

I warned the motherfucker seven years ago what would happen if I ever found out that he was running girls. He really should have heeded my warning. "Swear to Christ, I'm going to fucking demolish him," I mutter to myself before slipping back into the shadows to make my way back to my girl.