Chapter 1 #2
I consciously relax each muscle as it tightens in defense. My whole body wants to coil and fight, but I can't show her any of that, or I'll lose any edge I have.
"You said you needed my help. With what? Finding these women who've gone missing?"
"I know of two for sure," she insists, not ceding any territory. "Groomed. Passports taken."
The fury on her face is raw and untamed, so convincing that this could all actually be true. Could it be?
"That's a big accusation. Trafficking."
"Rio." Her words express a need for the first time since entering this room. "I know it's true. I'm not making this up."
She either cares about these women or wants what finding them gets her. By the look of the thousand-dollar Lucchese boots on her feet, the Van Cleef necklace with bracelets to match — she's damn used to getting what she asks for.
Our gazes burn across the desk as we both wait to see who fires the next shot.
I need to know more, and silence is often the best interrogator.
Finally, she flings her hands in the air, infuriated.
"You don't believe me?" She digs into her tote bag, pulls out her cell, swipes manically, then shoves the screen in front of me.
"Here's the passport of one of the women…
" She pulls the cell back before I can even look and swipes it again, shoving it back a second time.
"And the other…" This time, she leaves the screen in front of me, though when I lean forward to see, she flinches — almost imperceptible, but it's there.
Sure enough. It's a Chilean passport, and there's a woman on it. But that doesn't mean anything. This could all be some trap.
"That doesn't prove trafficking."
"How can you act so casual about this?" she spits.
I don't feel casual at all. I've already memorized the woman's name. Beatriz Concha. In my world, men who hurt women don't get second chances. That rule is carved into my bones.
I’ll check her out once I get rid of Delilah.
But I'm not following some MC princess's orders.
I don't take kindly to people stealing my power, trying to manipulate me, or feeling entitled to storm into my life and threaten my family's security.
"I'm not one of your father's men," I growl. "Not some minion you can bat your eyelashes at and get what you want just because you say so."
I lean forward on my fingertips and carve a damning smile onto my lips. "I don't bow to orders."
She laughs sarcastically. "Anymore."
My jaw tightens, but I have to give it to her.
"Go to the police." I sit and turn to my computer, away from her striking gaze, her fucking intoxicating perfume, and start typing.
This meeting is over.
"Let yourself out, or I'll ask security to come and get you."
She takes the folder from my desk and lifts it in the air. "You don't care if I leak this?"
Of course I do. I want to jump over the desk, snatch those photos, and shred them with my teeth. But she doesn't have the upper hand. We're at a stalemate. I need her out of this room.
"Those photos don't prove anything criminal." I use a patronizing tone, still staring at my screen. "You burn me, you lose me anyway. So whatever you need me to do then becomes impossible, doesn't it?" I raise my eyebrow but don’t give her the courtesy of eye contact. "Looks like you're stuck."
It's a bluff and a fucking scary one at that. A woman ready to throw her own father and likely her financial resources on hot coals might burn me out of vengeance. But my only play is to fool her into thinking I don't care. That she doesn't have me by the balls.
She does, though. She has what it takes to expose me and instantly make my board of directors and investors lose confidence.
She could ruin the passion that drives my twin brother.
Decimate the shares that keep my father retired, my family free.
She also has me because, on the off chance she isn't using the idea of trafficking as a ploy to get me to find other things, I'm now burning with a need to help those women if they exist.
My moral compass is fucking spinning right now.
She shoves the manila folder back in her tote. "I'll come back in five days," she announces as if daring me to tell her otherwise. "I'll send the photos of the passports to your email address. I'm not giving you more than two weeks to find these women, Rio."
I need to know why she wants these women. What's her damn motive? My keyboard clicks as I continue to type. I don't look at her, but I can’t pay attention to my screen either.
"Why two weeks?"
She leans into my space and nudges my keyboard just enough to make me stop typing. Fucking hell, she's got nerve.
I look up at her. "That's the deadline," she points at me. "It's a simple arrangement. You find the girls, use it to bury my father, and nobody ever knows about Jackal."
She turns toward the door, round ass swaying as she moves toward the exit, and unclicks the lock behind her. She spins one last time.
"If you haven't made progress when I meet you, an email with every single one of those photos of you goes out to the anonymous tip line at the Feds.
The email is already scheduled, so you'd better make sure I have a reason to kill it after our meeting.
" She places a hand on her deliciously curved hip — a black widow if I've ever seen one.
She stands there like she knows exactly how lethal she is — brains, body, and all of it aimed straight at me.
"I'll make an appointment with Terry on the way out. Monday. Breast Cancer Now. Brandy Taylor."
She didn't use her real name. She didn't leave a trace between me and the contents of that manila folder. That's a lifeline. But my jaw still tics. I'm in this deep whether I like it or not.
Delilah stares at me with a venomous warning. "The person who gets what they want here, Rio, isn't the one with more to gain." She reaches for the door, dark hair swishing down her back like a warning flag. "It's the one with more to lose."
With a confidence far beyond her years, she leaves me.
More to lose. There's no doubt I have more to lose than her. But then, the value of our lives is determined much like beauty — it's in the eye of the beholder. It's in how much gratitude, love and obsession you have for the things already in it.
She fucking underestimated me. Outsiders see a ruthless businessman, a man with a taste for the finer things in life. But I love my family and have protected everyone in it by giving up my own goddamn salvation.
What is she ready to lose? Her next Prada bag?
I scrub a hand down my face and breathe for what feels like the first time since she walked in here and locked the door.
Even though she thinks she was enigmatic, she revealed enough.
My kill switch is in five days, hers is in two weeks.
I need to know what happens in two weeks.
What she needs… if I find that, I control the narrative.
Yes, she might want me to find these women, but she needs something else, too. I always back myself, but as I stare at the door, her Chanel perfume still filling every corner of my office, my gut tells me it's not going to be easy.
Delilah Cross.
She must have been twelve when I was patched.
Now, she is a stunning grown woman I have no choice but to align with… or destroy.