15. Trouble Comes Calling
Chapter 15
Trouble Comes Calling
Ash
T hat fucking piece-of-shit investor.
I hate when wealthy men try to take advantage of people, assuming just because they’re young, poor, or female, they’re incapable. But I think I showed him exactly where he could shove his proposal.
I didn’t know who the guy was as I walked through our shared hallway, but I saw how Ori was reacting to him—her head bowed, her hand rubbing her brow. She was upset, and that was enough to make me see red.
So, I left Braden hanging mid-sentence and rushed into One More Page to protect my girl.
I think she appreciated it, too, even if I didn’t intend to say all that aloud.
Now, it’s back to work. Or, as I lovingly call it, the insanity of my life.
“Everything okay?” Braden inquires as I walk into Black Lotus. “You rushed out of here like your bike was on fire.”
“Shut the fuck up. Why would you put that out there?” I shoot my brother a look of death, shuddering inwardly at the very thought. After everything I’ve gone through with my ride, I’m getting buried with her. No joke.
“Just saying. Relax.”
“Some sleazy property investor came to speak with Ori about selling her house. I intervened.”
“Does she want to sell?”
“No, but she gets overwhelmed. Who wouldn’t, right? I assured the schmuck that Ori and I have it covered.”
Braden’s grin widens. “Knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“You’ve fallen for Ori.”
“Whatever, man.”
“That’s not a no.” He chuckles, dodging the paper cup I lob at his head.
The truth is, I have fallen for her. Hard and fast, and there’s no going back. I tried everything to avoid love, but it turns out love is one hell of a huntress.
I hate I couldn’t say it back to Ori when she told me she loved me in Florida, but I had to let it sink in. Marinate on the idea that I could love again like I did with Lucille.
That’s not right either, because this is bigger than that love. Deeper.
I’m so fucked.
But maybe not. Maybe this time will be different because I’m different. Ori is different. She’s not Lucille, and she’s never given me a reason to doubt her sincerity.
Granted, neither did Lucille—until the day I proposed. And look how that turned out.
See? This is the shit circling my head. All. Day. Long.
But tomorrow night, I’m biting the bullet. I’m not ready to admit that I’m in love, but I am ready to reassure Ori that I don’t want any other women—ever. Period. End of story.
And if any guy comes near her, they’re going to wind up as dog food.
Not even kidding. The possessiveness I feel toward that petite ball of fire grows exponentially by the day. Pretty soon, it will consume me, much like everything else about Ori.
Then, I’ll tell her how I want us to grow a life together. Working on the Dean Estate, pooling resources, and building something real.
I think she’ll be on board.
It’s going to be good.
“Hey,” Braden claps his arm around my shoulder, his characteristic grin lighting up his face. “I’m thrilled for you. She’s a good woman. A damn good woman.”
“I take it you’re a fan of Ori?” Truth is, I know my brother loves her. He’s also got the hots for her employee, Mina, but that’s a story for another time.
“I enjoy seeing my brother happy after so many years of watching you miserable.”
“I wasn’t—” But I stop myself because, despite the devil-may-care facade I wore as I played with countless women, I was deeply unhappy.
Now, for the first time, I see a future that isn’t just me, my bike, and some one-night stand. I see a life with Ori.
“Am I right?” Braden nudges me, pushing as usual until I cave and admit he’s been correct all along.
“Damn it, dude. You’re right, okay? She’s amazing, and … I’m crazy about her.”
“Was that so hard?”
Actually, it was incredibly easy.
Maybe I can tell Ori how I feel.
Maybe this time, my heart won’t get ripped apart.
So much crap to do, and there just aren’t enough hours in the day.
I head downstairs, giving a quick once-over to the day’s work before sending the guys home. They’re busting their asses, and Rum & Ruin is coming together quickly.
Not as quickly as I’d like, but hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?
Settling into my office, I pull out some designs I’ve been working on, my mind already running through the changes I want to make. My gaze drifts, landing on the book Ori delivered earlier.
I still have zero clue why some random guy would give me a book, but perhaps it’s like Ori said. Maybe he’s excited about the speakeasy opening, too.
Leaning back in the chair, I flip through the pages. The scent of old paper fills the air, and I must admit, the book is pretty damn cool.
A piece of paper slips out, landing in my lap. Frowning, I unfold it, expecting some notes or a misplaced receipt.
It’s neither.
It’s a letter.
And it’s addressed to me.
Ash,
You’ve got yourself a nice setup here. Oriana’s quite the prize.
I wonder, does she know about the skeletons you keep?
Or is honesty still a luxury you can’t afford?
Good luck keeping all your cards in play—someone always has a better hand.
– Kevin
I tug a hand through my hair, my emotions spinning. What the fuck? I don’t even know this guy, and yet he’s threatening me?
Oh, hell no. Time for me to track this bastard down and show him that keeping your mouth shut and out of other people’s business is always the best move.
Then there’s his mention of Oriana. I knew this piece of shit was after her. I don’t know what game he’s playing, but if he thinks I’ll stand by while he messes with her, he’s dead wrong.
I crumple the letter and toss it onto the desk, reaching for the bottle of whiskey in the drawer. Screw the glass. I twist off the cap and take a long pull, the burn doing little to temper the fire in my chest.
“Skeletons.” The word rolls bitterly off my tongue. I’ve had enough of them. I’m tired of being haunted by ghosts I didn’t invite.
Deep breaths, Ash. Focus. He’s just trying to get in your head, and you can’t let him win. He’s got nothing on you. Hell, he doesn’t even know you.
The vibrating hum of my cell phone slices through the tension, the unknown number flashing across the screen. My gut tightens as I stare at it. Instinct tells me not to answer. Logic tells me it could be important.
Pick up the damn phone.
“Yeah?” I bark into the receiver, still on edge, wondering if it might be my new nemesis on the other end.
It’s not.
“Ash.” Her voice trembles, raw and barely audible.
“Lucille?” My grip on the phone tightens, and I push out a sharp breath. Of course, it’s her. “How the hell did you get this number?”
She sniffles, her voice cracking. “I need your help.”
I scrub a hand over my face, the weight of the day pressing heavier. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain over the phone. Please—it’s important.”
“Lucille, you can’t just?—”
“Please,” she interrupts, her voice desperate, trembling with fear. “Don’t say no.”
My jaw clenches, torn between frustration and an ingrained sense of duty. I don’t owe Lucille anything, but the terror in her voice sets alarm bells ringing in my head.
“Where are you?”
She rattles off an address I recognize immediately: The Camelot Inn . A goddamn cesspool.
“Stay put. I’ll be there soon.”
I stride to the front door five minutes later, pulling Braden aside. “I need you to take my consult for the afternoon, okay?”
“What’s going on?”
“Lucille called, and she’s begging me to come get her at a motel a few towns over.”
“Why you?”
“No idea, but she’s hysterical. I’m going to get her and bring her wherever she needs to go.”
“I don’t like this, Ash. Last time you got mixed up with this woman, you damn near got killed.”
“Not getting mixed up with her. Just giving her a lift.”
I can tell by the set of my brother’s jaw that he’s not convinced, but he also knows better than to push the issue. Smart man.
“Be careful,” he mutters as I walk out the door.
Trust me, brother. With this woman, careful is my middle name.
Lucille sure can pick ‘em. I drive into the parking lot of The Camelot Inn just as the sun is setting, noting how the derelicts and drug addicts are just starting to stir, searching for their nightly fix.
The seediest motel for three counties—renowned for all manner of debauchery—and this is where my ex-girlfriend winds up? Never a dull moment with Lucille, that’s for sure.
I knock at the door of room #7, my skin crawling just being here.
“Ash?” Lucille’s voice comes from the other side, shaky but unmistakable.
“It’s me.”
The sound of bolts sliding and locks turning assuages my ears before she pulls the door open, grasping my arm and tugging me inside.
What the fuck? I do not want to stay here a minute longer than necessary.
“Thank you for coming.”
My jaw drops as I take in the faint bruise covering her upper cheekbone and the half-healed split in her lower lip. I pull her under the flickering light, studying the marks more closely.
“What the fuck is going on? Who did this to you?”
“A bad man.”
“That’s an understatement. Is this the first time?”
I already know the answer. Sadly, most women don’t leave the first time. Or the tenth. Hell, some never leave, powerless to escape the abuse as society turns its head away.
Total bullshit.
I’m not in the mood for a knock-down, drag-out fight, but it looks like that’s what this is gearing up to be.
No one hits a woman.
No. One.
A heavy knocking reverberates through the room, and my gaze flits between Lucille and the door. “Did he tail you?”
Lucille shakes her head, peeking through the keyhole before swinging the door open.
On the other side stands Trace. Also known as Lucille’s ex-husband, the guy I unwittingly screwed over a decade earlier.
Lucille, what the hell are you doing?
I tense, the weight of old grudges mixing with fresh confusion. Maybe these two dragged me here to settle some decade long grievance.
All I know is—I should have listened to Braden.
Trace notices my stiff stance and extends his hand. “Easy, brother. I come in peace.”
Now I know this is about to get messy.
I stare at his outstretched hand, still not trusting the situation—or either of them.
“Trust me. I’m not here for you.”
Although Trace might be full of crap, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. What other choice do I have? He’s standing between me and the door, so if I want to get past him, I’ll have to go through him.
With a sigh, I shake his hand before swinging my gaze back to Lucille. “Want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“I don’t know about you, Ash, but I need a drink.” Trace pulls a bottle of whiskey from his coat pocket, sloshing the liquid inside. “You game?”
“Why the hell not?” I mutter, my eyes bouncing between Trace and Lucille like a pinball on speed.
He grabs two disposable cups from the counter and pours out the amber liquid.
He hands me the shot, and I nod toward Lucille. “Where’s yours?”
“I’m on the wagon.”
At first, I figure she’s drying out, but then I notice the slight swell of her belly.
There’s no way.
“You’re pregnant?” I choke out.
A feeling I’m not familiar with shoots through me—a jealousy that she’s having a family. Lucille never wanted kids, but I was champing at the bit to have a few. That is until she eviscerated my heart.
After that, I shelved the idea, right next to love and all its trappings.
Now, she’s having a kid?
Fucking figures.
Lucille rests a protective hand on her belly. “Fifteen weeks. Hard to believe, right?”
“That’s an understatement. Are you the dad?” I motion toward Trace. Anything seems possible at this point.
Trace snorts into his glass. “Hell, no. That would be too easy.”
I grab my keys from my pocket, jerking my thumb toward the door. “Look, Lucille, Trace is here. He can take care of you, okay? I’ve got to go.”
“That’s not why you’re here,” Trace replies, motioning for me to take a seat at the battered wood table.
I scoff, growing more irritated by the second. “Then someone better tell me why the fuck I am here.”
“Because we need your help.” Trace’s voice is firm, unyielding.
“We? As in you two?” I wag my finger between Trace and Lucille.
Trace shakes his head, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “We, as in the United States government.”
I rub a hand across my eyes, certain this is some crazy fever dream concocted by my sleep-addled brain. “Wait, are you?—”
“I’m with Homeland Security.” His tone is matter of fact, but the words knock me off balance.
“I thought you were part of an MC.”
Trace waves his hand dismissively. “Never mind that. Look, Lucille has gotten involved with the wrong man.”
“I can tell.”
“And now, through no fault of your own, you’re also involved.”
“Wait a damn minute.” My voice sharpens as I lean forward, pointing to myself. “How the hell am I involved? I don’t even know the asshole she’s dating.”
Then it hits me. Maybe I do know the son-of-a-bitch. Who else has been sending me veiled threats?
I slump against the chair. “Kevin Duncan.”
“Yep.” Trace takes another sip of his whiskey, his foot tapping a steady rhythm against the dingy carpet. “Guess you’ve had a few dealings with him?”
“You could say that.” My jaw tightens as I glance at Lucille. “He left me a note, intimating he was going to reveal the skeletons in my closet. Some such shit. Not sure what he thinks he has on me, though.”
Lucille leans forward, her fingers drumming nervously against the table. “He thinks you’re my baby’s father.”
My entire world tilts on its axis, her voice reaching my ears like it’s traveling down a long, dark hallway. “Excuse me?”
Those are the only words I can manage, and even they feel like a monumental effort.
I scrub my hand over my face, as the cloudy, seemingly random moments—the book, the note, Kevin’s car loitering outside my shop, and his dogged interest in Ori—form a horrifyingly clear picture.
Now I get it, although I’m not sure how Kevin made such a ridiculous leap.
“How the hell did he reach that conclusion?” I finally manage, my voice hollow with disbelief.
“He suspected something was up between us after he found pictures from the convention in Vegas. I denied it, but Kevin was convinced we were sleeping together.”
“Yeah, I get that.” The words bite as they leave my mouth, my head pounding. “So why didn’t you set him straight? Or better yet, ignore his bullshit accusations and leave?”
“It’s not that simple.” Her voice cracks, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Kevin is dangerous. And it’s not just about me—it’s about the women at the club.”
“What club?” I snap. Nothing they’re saying makes any sense. They might as well be speaking Chinese.
Trace clears his throat, his calm demeanor further stoking my irritation. “Kevin owns a high-end sex club. We’ve been monitoring it for months, and we believe it’s a front for trafficking.”
I whirl back to Lucille, incredulous. “I’ll ask you again. Why the hell didn’t you leave?”
“Because she’s been working with me.” Trace’s tone is firm, the syllables clipped.
“Are you Homeland Security, too?” The sarcasm drips from my words.
“Of course not,” Lucille snaps. “I worked reception at Kevin’s club a few nights a week. I always surmised something was happening there, but I chalked it up to paranoia and too many crime dramas. A few months ago, I saw Trace at the club, but I avoided him, as I’ve done for the last decade. The next day, he showed up at the tattoo parlor where I work. Told me who he was and how I could help him.”
“You didn’t know he worked for the government?” My skepticism is palpable. Hell, Lucille and Trace were married—how does someone hide that integral piece of information?
“There was a lot I didn’t know about my husband.” Lucille’s voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it—a resentment, or unfinished business, maybe both.
“That worked both ways,” Trace mutters, shooting her a side eye. “Anyway, Lucille offered to be our eyes and ears in the club—monitoring which girls came in and, more importantly, which girls vanished without a trace. Meanwhile, I continued to play the part of the interested customer, although I damn near blew my cover when Kevin smacked her in front of everyone. But Lucille stopped me, reminded me of the bigger picture.”
I notice the defiant flicker in Lucille’s eyes and realize she didn’t just stumble into this mess. She chose to stay. Part of me wants to respect her bravery, while the other part wants to wring her neck for putting herself in danger.
"What’s the bigger picture, Trace?" I grind out. "Because all I see is that Lucille is hurt and you’re hiding behind some bullshit bureaucratic red tape."
“If I go in there, guns blazing, without solid evidence, not only will I lose my job, but that piece of crap walks. Lucille’s been integral in collecting intel, and we’re close to taking the bastard down, but her current situation complicates things.” Trace’s gaze shifts to her stomach, and the pieces click into place.
Still doesn’t answer my biggest question.
“Speaking of that,” I point at Lucille’s belly. “Let’s back up a minute. How did I get named as the father again?”
“I didn’t plan it,” Lucille blurts out, the desperation thick in her tone. “When Kevin started hitting me the other night, demanding to know what I’d done, I panicked. I didn’t know what it was. If he found out I was working with Trace, I’d be dead—no doubt about it. So, I played the only card I had—I broke down crying and told him I was pregnant. He called me every name in the book—whore, bitch, cunt—and then, as calm as you please, he proclaimed that you must be the father. Like he’d solved a puzzle. Was almost smug about it. He said that made me someone else’s problem now.” She pauses, hanging her head. “I seized the moment and ran with it.”
Holy shit.
“You agreed I was the father?”
Lucille nods, seemingly unaware of the shitstorm she’s thrown my way. “I was so afraid I’d lose the baby if he didn’t stop.”
But two and two are not equaling four. “Why doesn’t Kevin think the baby could be his?”
“He had a vasectomy years ago. Didn’t work, obviously, but the truth doesn’t matter to Kevin when it fails to suit his narrative.”
I stand and pace the length of the grimy, threadbare carpet, sucking in a lungful of the stale motel air. “So, what now? What’s your end game here, Trace?”
“Lucille moves in with you under the guise that you two are having a child together.”
I screech to a halt and look at Trace, my jaw slack. “You’re fucking kidding me. There must be another option.”
“I put Lucille into witness protection, far beyond Kevin’s grasp.”
“Great idea,” I reply, motioning toward her. “Request somewhere tropical. You love the beach.”
“If we do that,” Trace continues, “then Kevin may grow suspicious and shut down his operation. If Lucille stays local and visible, it lends credence to her story that you two are having a baby. It keeps his focus on her—and you—and off the trafficking.”
Lucille shifts in her seat, wringing her hands. “If I disappear, those women will vanish, too.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, yanking a hand through my hair.
The weight of what they’re asking crushes me. They don’t just want me to lie—they want me to become part of this fucked-up charade.
“We need you,” Trace says, his tone firm. “If Kevin thinks the baby is yours, it buys my team time. Time to finish the investigation. Time to keep Lucille safe. And time to stop the women at the club from disappearing.”
“This is insane.” I scrub a hand over my face, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Trace’s voice hardens. “I won’t lie to you—it’s dangerous. Guys like Kevin think they’re untouchable, but they all slip up, eventually. If we pull this off, we can shut Kevin down for good. Countless women are depending on that.”
“And what’s the plan after that?” I inquire, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Am I supposed to raise his kid, too?”
“No one’s asking you to do that.” Trace shakes his head, the exhaustion etching lines into his face. “But we need your help to keep Lucille safe.”
I understand how much is riding on Trace’s investigation, and I’ve watched the documentaries—girls, some barely teenagers, stolen from their homes and sold into a life of sexual slavery.
Doesn’t change the magnitude of their request.
“You really can’t do this without me?”
“Brother, I wish we could. Trust me, I don’t enjoy involving civilians in my work. Right now, Kevin doesn’t know what to believe. That’s why he’s digging into your business. He’s trying to figure out if Lucille’s pregnancy claim is a setup. If you play along, act like the stand-up guy helping the woman he got pregnant, it might throw Kevin off the trail.”
“Or he might shoot me in the street.” I bite out the words, although at this point, anything is possible.
Trace shakes his head. “Kevin is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. I’m hiding you two in plain sight. Everyone knows you in Sparkwood, Ash. If something happens to you, the whole town will be out for blood—and Kevin knows it. He’ll make your life hell, but he’s not stupid enough to risk collapsing his entire operation by taking you out. His house of cards is wobbling, and he knows one wrong move will bring it all crashing down.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” I mutter, the whiskey threatening to make a reappearance. “How long is this for?”
“Six weeks, maybe less. There’s been talk of a new shipment within a month.”
“Shipment meaning?—”
“Girls,” Trace states, the words falling clipped from his lips.
Yep, that whiskey is definitely coming back for round two.
Focus, Ash. Fucking keep it together.
“Trace said, hiding us in plain sight. Are you moving to Sparkwood?” I ask Lucille, knowing my brother will have a conniption when he learns that piece of information.
“Yes. You and I must put up a unified front. Show the town, and more importantly Kevin, that we’re together.”
“So, you’ll live at my place?”
Please say no.
She nods. “And work at Black Lotus.”
“And we tell everyone the baby is … ours?” My voice cracks.
“You two have history,” Trace says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Plus, there are photos of you two hanging out recently. It’s plausible.”
I drag a hand over my beard, my brain not fully comprehending this insane situation. “Shit, I hate this, but I get how big this endgame is, so I guess I’m in. But I need to talk to Ori and Braden first—let them know the situation.”
“Not a possibility. On either count,” Trace replies without hesitation.
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“This is on a strictly need-to-know basis. We need both of them—and their reactions—to be believable. Trust me, Kevin Duncan is watching, just waiting for someone to slip up.”
“You want me to lie to my girl?” I sputter out the words, shaking my head and hands in tandem.
“I understand what you’re feeling?—”
I cut Trace off, slicing my hand through the air in a cutting motion. “No, you don’t. You’re asking me to lie to my girlfriend and claim my ex is having my baby.”
“That is what I’m asking,” Trace states, his gaze fixed on mine.
“I can’t do it. I’ll lose her.” Don’t either of them understand the gravity of this situation—of my situation?
“Maybe not,” Lucille chimes in. “If she realizes I’m not a threat?—”
I smack my hand against my forehead. I swear, Lucille can be so dense sometimes. “Which would be a hell of a lot easier to accomplish if I could tell her the truth. Explain how I’m working undercover and that it isn’t my baby. There’s no way she’ll understand the alternative.”
Trace leans back, arms crossed. “You and Ori have been dating three months, right?”
A muscle jumps in my jaw. “Should I bother asking how you know that?”
“Trust me, Ash, I don’t give a damn about your social life—except where it intersects with this case. I’m right, though, aren’t I? Three months?”
“Just about.”
“Well,” Trace points at Lucille, who sits silently, her face unreadable, “she’s fifteen weeks. So whatever happened was before you and Ori got together.”
“It doesn’t matter. If I go along with this, I’ll lose her.” My voice cracks, the raw emotion threatening to take over. “She’ll never forgive me.”
“And you’ll never forgive yourself if something happens to her. Look, Ash, you don’t have much choice. If Kevin suspects this is a setup, it’s not just Lucille or those girls in danger. It’s everyone connected in any way with this case—and that includes the woman you love.”
He slides a few photos across the table to me—Ori at her shop, Ori walking down Main Street, Ori at the grocery store.
“Did you take these?” The words fall from my mouth like shards of ice.
“Kevin did,” Lucille says. “Or one of his guys. I found them in his desk drawer right before I left. I knew then he was watching you because I recognized the sign for Black Lotus .”
But I’m not worried about my safety. It’s the sight of Ori’s face in those photos that hits me like a gut punch—each one a stark reminder of how close this bastard is to destroying everything I care about.
“He’s watching her.”
“And waiting,” Trace says grimly. “You saw what he did to Lucille’s face. He’s capable of far worse.”
“But why Ori? She has nothing to do with this.”
“Because Kevin feels you took something that belonged to him.” Trace jerks his thumb toward Lucille. “Even if he’s glad to be rid of her, he won’t forgive the perceived slight. He’ll go after something you care about, just to make a point. Pretty obvious who that is.”
“I can’t do this.” The words come out rough, a plea I don’t even recognize as my own.
I never thought anyone would make me want to take a chance on the future again, but then Ori walked into my life. And now my past is demanding I throw it all away?
Trace’s expression hardens, his tone cutting through my hesitation. “You think this is about your relationship? About whether Ori forgives you? Wake up, Ash—it’s about keeping her safe. Kevin’s already circling. If you step out of line, she’s his next move. You help me, and I’ll make sure Kevin doesn’t get anywhere near her.”
My hands tighten on the back of the chair, my knuckles white from the force of it. Anger simmers just beneath my skin, but Trace doesn’t let up.
“You love her? Fine. Then protect her. You want to keep her safe? This is how.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I mutter the word over and over, desperate to awaken from this nightmare.
But it’s not happening.
“Ash, I hate that you’re involved. You’re innocent in this. So are the people you love. I promise I’ll keep all of you safe, but I need your help to do that. What do you say?”
The weight of Trace’s words settles over me like a vise, squeezing tighter with every passing second.
I have no choice. To protect the woman I love, I have to lie to her.
I have to break her heart. Shatter any belief she has in me, in us, and in the future we could have had together.
They say you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Well, I know exactly what I’ve got with Ori—and what I’m about to lose. The thought makes me want to vomit.
But one thought rings louder than the rest.
I love you, Ori. Fuck, I should’ve told you that sooner. I should have said something on that first day. That first week.
Now, I may never get the chance to give her the life she deserves.
I thought losing Lucille was bad? It’s nothing compared to giving up the woman I adore. But Trace is right, I’ll lose my damn mind if harm befalls Ori.
I take another swig of whiskey, slamming the glass on the table. “Fine. But when this is over, I’m done and you two will get the fuck out of my life. No questions asked.”
If keeping Ori safe means ripping my heart out and handing it over, then so be it. But Kevin? That bastard won’t make it out of this unscathed.
Trace nods, his expression grim. “Fair enough. But for now, we play the hand we’ve been dealt.”