20. Tell

20

TELL

T alk about bad timing.

I'm in fucking heaven, falling so damn hard, still savoring the taste of her on my lips. We're hot and heavy, about to fuck right there on her desk. And DeSante is watching us, thinking I don't see him there behind the window. The thought of it is almost as hot as Hellena, grinding on my finger.

He wants a show, I'm happy to give him one.

Hellena's coming undone, completely wild and moaning my name, and I'm seconds away from sliding my cock between her legs, and a few minutes away from coming all over myself from just the sight of her when my ‘other' phone rings.

The one that never rings.

Of all people to call me at all, especially right then, my dad is the last person I expected, or needed, to hear from. Of course, he only calls when he needs something. When it's an emergency, of sorts.

And I had damn well better answer every time.

I don't, and it rings again, and again, and something inside me clams up, firing warning signals through my limbs. Stop. Pick it up .

If I don't, there will be consequences.

I kiss Hellena and excuse myself, hating every second of it. Saying goodbye is impossibly hard, but I manage, shutting that part down and trying to shift into Tyler Vanderbelt, mayor's son. I'm halfway down the hall, swiping to answer.

"Junior. I need you at the house ASAP. Got something I need you to look into." That's the whole conversation. Just like that, I'm told what to do and when to do it. Like a fucking lapdog.

"I understand. Be right there." Even my voice changes, a quavering hesitance to every word. I hate him. My father, and the version of myself I am when I'm around him. This was who I was growing up. This is who I was beaten into.

The quiet, elusive young man most people forgot about. I leaned into that, the recluse. The socially inept and dysfunctional shut-in who never leaves his studio apartment. It was the perfect cover to get out from under my dad's rule to a degree, to stay under his radar.

As I slip out the front door, I catch another glimpse of our stalking host, watching me leave from his office window. Probably seething at my being in his space, touching his things.

He's always been possessive.

I can tell he's as hopelessly in love with Hellena as I am. As Gavin is. Most guys would be pissed, jealous, or just call it quits. For me? It all fits. Hellena is the only person all of the versions of me want. So it only makes sense that she could fall for the other men in her life, other roles that fill different facets and aspects of her needs.

Or maybe I'm just weird.

Whatever makes her happy, makes me happy. And I've never had any issues with the idea of sharing, even at the same time. Gavin and Evan are both hot.

I know I have my limitations and that I may not be good enough for her. But demanding she be only mine is never going to be one of them.

The drive through the hills helps me clear my head, get in character. I had to stop off to switch cars, change faces.

Try and get her out of my thoughts. Good luck with that.

A text has me giddy, her asking when we can see each other again.

It's a brief second where I get a reprieve from everything going on in my life. I wish I could just stay with her. Forget about all this bullshit. Forget about the war brewing between rival gangs, politics, gathering intel.

That's what I've got to go deal with now. And I need to be on my A-game.

A stiff-necked guard opens the gate to the manor grounds, waving me on. They know my car. I can see the jokes about it in their eyes. Loser son of the most important man in Sanctum, driving his loser smart car.

I drive straight around to the guest house, where I know my dad will be in the office he prefers, out of the house and away from my mother and sister. I can relate. The two of them are practically strangers to me.

Mom is permanently perc'd up. Shannon is umbilically attached to her Tik-Tok feed.

"Go on in, Tyler." Another guard steps aside to allow me up the stairs. I nod and hook the edges of my lips down, a perpetual frown of distress.

Inside, the air stinks of sterile chemicals and whiskey. Dad is a clean freak. And a closet drunk.

Wonder why I'm so screwed up?

"Hello, Father."

"Tyler, my son, it's good to see you." He hides his slur exceptionally well. He fakes that he cares pretty well, too. You would think at home, he'd be a little less of a politician, but if anything, he's more so.

"Mmhmm. You too." I'm placid. Timid.

The smile twisting his lean features is hard, forced. At least he's rarely malicious with Tyler Jr. He saves the majority of his temper for his mistresses.

And work. He's ruthless as a city official. Behind closed doors only.

On the campaign trail and at fundraisers, it's a different person altogether. The rich part of the city loves him for maintaining the status quo, their "peace".

That's why he's been mayor four times.

"What did you need? It sounded important."

"Isn't it enough that I wanted to see my son? We miss you around here."

I put on that shy smirk and shrug my shoulders up around my neck.

"Uh, yeah. It's good to see you, too." My voice drops lower, shaky. Unsure.

"Since you're over here, your mother was wondering if you wanted to stay for dinner. We're having some Himalayan bullshit. Your sister's always insisting we try new things, you know."

"No, no, I don't think so. I have… um." Looking uncomfortable is way too easy.

"No need to explain. I thought as much and told her you would want to get home. I understand, boy." He's so ready to let me play this person. To keep me conveniently accessible, but just as conveniently absent.

It's why I developed the version of myself, one that had so little use to him in public.

Tyler Jr. the recluse. Tyler Jr. the quiet, pensive, neurotic computer nerd. He's who I was as a child.

He's all of my flaws, mashed into one.

My dad only has one use for Tyler Jr. "You, uh, you think you could check on something for me, Son?"

"Sure." Ah, yes. Tyler Jr. the hacker. The one who can alter documents, delete private emails. I do it to maintain my place in his hierarchy, to keep tabs on all of his people and the city council members. "Who do you need me to look into?"

"Well, the council and I are concerned that there's something brewing between the big two. They're getting noisy. They're getting brazen, bold. Do your thing. For the good of the city." He swaggers up to me, an arm around my shoulders like we're partners. Like he's a father instead of a tyrant.

"The usual?"

"Yeah, whatever you need to do. Surveillance, emails, phone calls, texts. Just don't let it get traced back to me!" He laughs, too loudly.

"I'll be careful." I pull away, ready to leave. "Um, Dad? Do you think we're in trouble?"

"Yes." I'm shocked he gave me a straight answer. "And no. Because I have a plan. Don't you worry. If they think they can build their little armies, they've got another thing coming."

"What are you going to do?"

"Build a little army of my own. Get me the dirt I need on both of them. The Ghosts and the Block. It's past time that I shut their shithole operations down. Especially with the campaign coming up in the fall."

"Yessir."

"It's up to us to keep Sanctum Harbor safe, the people. To make sure those shit for brains keep suckling at our teat, looking to us for guidance, for saving."

I widen my eyes, nodding vigorously. Like I'm in awe of all his intelligence.

After a sickening hug and pat on my back, I slip out the back door, back into my shitty car. I need a shower. To scrub until I turn red. Until I can't smell his breath and his cologne on me.

My hand twitches, begging me to turn off the car, turn it on again.

No. I won't be a slave to the urge.

I need to change, shift myself out of this persona before it eats me up. Tyler Jr. protests as I push the little car to its limit, speeding toward my stash, another vehicle, another name.

It's so much easier to breathe once I'm out of that outfit, my hair out of my face.

Not that I love who I'm changing into.

Jack is a real son of a bitch.

But he's one of my most important characters. One I need to go see a very important player in the game.

Dad's not wrong about one thing, that's for sure. There is a war coming. I've seen in on the streets. From the looks of it, it's going to be a three-pronged assault, maybe more. There's other players trying to move into town.

We've got the city council, Dad's people. Most of the upper crust are on his side, ready to dump their money into keeping themselves on top.

Second, there's the Block, the Motorcycle gang that runs guns, sells bone-breaking security details. They've got their own territory, highway routes. They keep a compound on the edge of town, well-hidden.

Last, you've got the Holy Ghosts, a collection of drug addicts, street gangs, and pimps. They run Wharfside, the trailer park, the back end of the railyard.

All three of them are carefully balanced by the other power in SH.

The person I work for.

"For fuck's sake, Jack, you look like shit." Oliver Devonde doesn't bother hiding his disgust at my appearance in his office. Jack is haggard, itching for his next fix. Devonde glares at my ragged suit and tie.

"Heh, not all of us got showers in their offices!" I cackle.

And Devonde is not amused. "Well?" he demands in his nasal whine, always furious.

I cough, slipping into my tweaker voice. "Checkin' in. News." Jack is a fence, a messenger for the Holy Ghosts. Spreads news, reports to Oliver Devonde, who also happens to be the head of one of the most successful pharma producers in the world.

"Make it quick. How're the numbers this week?" He sets down his phone, glaring at me with those beady eyes. He's a walking skeleton, wiry, bald. The only swatch of hair, his gray goatee, makes his face look even longer, gaunter.

"Good, good. Jelly says he needs more product for the brothel. Only shortfall is Leo and Bull. Fuckers got their asses beat, hard."

"By whom?"

"Not sure. You think it could be the same guys that's been targeting our captains?" I know exactly who beat the shit out of Leo and his guys. I was there. And I know Gavin is not who has been killing off gang lords.

"That is a good question. One I need you to find me an answer for."

"What do you mean? You need me to pass along a message for the crews to keep an eye out?" As far as Jack is concerned, Devonde has more resources than he does.

"No. Not this time. I need you to get involved. Find out if the Block is taking out our people."

"Uh… Boss, I'm happy to do anything you need, but how am I s'posed to get in to see them? The Block compound is a fuckin' fortress!"

"Exactly. I need to know if they are building an army in that fortress and preparing to wipe us out!" He's on his feet, fingers clawing his desk. "I dragged these pathetic street thugs up and gave them a purpose. I gave them a product to sell, money, and power! I will not sit back and have it all torn down. It's high time the balance in Sanctum Harbor shifted toward me."

Me. He doesn't think of the Holy Ghosts as humans.

They're just meat for the grinder, fodder for him to use.

And he's right. Most of his crews are the scum of the earth. But there are innocents, too. The whores. The teens they sucker into delivering. The mules.

A few decades ago, the Ghosts were just street gangs until Devonde brought them all together. Until Devonde opened his factory east of town. Where he makes illicit drugs under completely ‘legal' pretenses. Then ships them out into the world.

"How do I buy my way in?"

"Offer them a deal. Ask for parlay. Someone has been targeting our guys. Key figures, key sellers. Don't make accusations. Just give the Block a chunk of territory, offer them free drugs, I don't fucking care, just find out who's killing my pawns. And find out how big of a threat they pose to our expanding our reach."

Jack is dismissed without another word. He's sweating bullets for the job he has to go do.

Fortunately, he, I, don't have to actually do any of that.

I've got someone else on the inside in the Block MC. And Dirk is overdue for a check-in at the compound.

I leave Devonde Medical, shaking off the persona of Jack and the sickening feeling I get whenever I have to talk to that maniac. He's a sociopath. One of these days, I'm going to see this fucker burn for poisoning this town.

My next stop is the garage where I keep my bike. Dirk is a courier for the Block, always on the road. He's been out of town, lately, visiting relatives.

The ride in the cold night air clears my head, helps me shake the exhaustion tearing at the back of my eyes. Staying up all night is wearing me thin.

Changing faces helps. Dirk rides all night. He's used to it.

Just like Jack doesn't sleep much, ever. Paranoia. Drugs.

But pretending only masks my body's limits. Eventually, I have to stop and sleep. Not tonight. Devonde and my father are both amassing forces, plans to expand. To offset the balance of power.

We need to know if the Block is doing the same.

If war is imminent in Sanctum, my boss needs to know every detail and have every bit of leverage to avoid it.

I've got my own incentive, someone I need to keep safe. Hellena.

It used to be enough to do my job, the thrill and the danger of going undercover. Dancing between roles, infiltrating anywhere and everywhere used to be enough to keep my tics at bay.

Now, it's all about her. She is my reason to live, my reason to fight. Even if she is a bit of a distraction when all I can think about are her lips, her smooth skin, her thighs…

The sun's peeking over the horizon when I pull into the compound.

Ol' Boris lets me in at the gate, giving me a nod when I toss up the hand signal. Things are quiet, but I can tell they had a party last night. Broken bottles, passed out bikers here and there. A couple of guys are still up, hammered and leaning against the garage, looking worried.

There's a dark van parked out front.

Something strikes me as odd about it. Out of place. And just like that, I'm on edge.

A few more of the crew I spot are nervous. Scared.

The second I step into the clubhouse, I know why. Lying flat on the table right in the middle of the barn, the main gathering room for parties, is Gavin Fucking Rorshak. The Eraser.

The enormous bear of a man is unconscious.

And he's bleeding out all over the place.

Which would be enough to throw me off all on its own. I almost choke, blowing my cover completely as I look up, recognizing the blood-covered woman next to him.

Hellena.