Chapter Twenty-Six
Margo
With the pale glow of the full moon illuminating the small path to the street, Carrie and Grayson calling out their goodbyes as the group parted ways from their porch.
It was picturesque, like the ending scene of a Hallmark movie during the holidays.
Hayes was right behind me. Close, warm, protective.
His voice was smooth, calm like a sea without wind, as he murmured his goodbyes to Dominic, Jake, and Ash.
“Bye, Margo,” Ash said, bumping my shoulder. “Rossy having a Black Friday sale tomorrow?”
“Hell if I know. I just work there,” I deadpanned, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my coat.
Ash chuckled. “Right. I’ll stop by for a coffee before heading back to Portland.”
I nearly fell over. He was staying the night in town? “Where are you staying?”
Jake answered for them. “At the inn. It’s too late to drive back.” He shot a look at Hayes. “And someone didn’t want to be a good little pilot for the crew.”
“Call me that again and I’ll break your legs,” Hayes warned on a low growl, turning to face them. As if on cue, his arm reached out behind me, hooking around my waist, gently pulling me to him. He looked down at me and then at the boys. “I take it you all have heard?” he guessed.
Dominic hummed, his dark eyes coming to me. “Gordon losing an asset that big will not bode well.”
“For who?” I asked, lifting my chin. “Gordon has no idea who or what Red Snake is.”
“Correct, but that doesn’t mean he won’t seek retaliation against the FBI,” Jake tacked on, adjusting his glasses. Halfway through the meal, he’d excused himself, grabbing a small bag from his backpack. He’d come back with his glasses on and stated that “contacts took a while to get used to.”
“Retaliation?” I parroted, the hairs on the back of my neck rising.
Silence.
I looked up at Hayes and went back to the team. “What am I missing?”
Ash’s eyes flashed with hesitation, darkening under the moonlight as he glared at Hayes. “You haven’t told her?”
“Told me what?” Hayes’ arm tightened around me when I tried to step away.
“Gordon has connections,” he said to me, holding my eyes. “I told you his drug trade in Portland was somewhat of a small empire.”
“Yes, you did…but you’re not telling me everything,” I accused, turning in his hold. I was fully ready to push him away, but there was something in his eyes, a flicker of fear deep within the green. “What is it?” I begged, my voice trembling on the last word.
“His connections in Seattle go deeper than we thought.”
My brow furrowed. “And that’s bad?”
Hayes looked over at Ash, and my eyes followed his, finding a shadow hanging over the retired SEAL. “Do you remember when Grayson disappeared on Carrie two years ago?”
Yes. She was distraught over it.
I nodded.
“Grayson had to go underground. On a hunt…to find me.”
My lips parted, shock slamming into me like a runaway train. “What?” I breathed.
Over the next few minutes, Ash gave me his truth, telling me about the pastor’s wife he’d found, tortured, starved, and chained to her bed.
He told me how when he came back for her, the pastor had cleared the house and taken her underground—to Devil’s Den.
Devil’s Den was somewhat of a local legend in the PNW.
There was an underground city, ruins of the original Seattle that had burned down nearly a hundred years ago that stretched far beyond the tourist attraction overseen by the local government.
There were rumors, dark and terrible rumors, about the nightmares that took place in Devil’s Den.
From drug smuggling to human trafficking.
“You think Gordon has connections to this place?” I asked when he was done, breaking the tense silence.
“The FBI believes that Gordon is a distributor of Nightwalker,” Dominic answered. “The drug Lucas used on Carrie the night he assaulted her.”
“Yes, I remember what it is,” I pushed out, feeling sick. I didn’t need to be reminded of that night or how, when I was curled up on my couch watching a rerun of Friends, my best friend had nearly been raped.
“Because of this suspicion, I went to the FBI field office earlier this week to have a meeting with the agent overseeing the case,” Ash explained, crossing his arms over his chest. “There are cameras all over that building.”
I huffed and mirrored his position, stepping out of Hayes’ hold. “Look, I need you to give it to me straight. That fucking asshole put me through hell for years and now he wants to do it again. That can’t happen—”
“It won’t happen.” Hayes cut me off.
I ignored him, keeping my focus on Ash. “Give me the truth, Doss.”
He looked at his team, and when no one else said a word, he gave it to me.
“If Gordon retaliates in the way we think he will based on his track record, he will nab an agent and torture them for answers.” He paused.
“The FBI has extensive training on how to resist torture and interrogation, but Gordon is a fucking snake, Margo. He’ll do anything—”
“To get what he wants,” I finished for him, the puzzle coming together in my mind. “So if he does kidnap an agent, he will torture them for information, which will lead back to Red Snake and thus, me. Do I have that right?” I snapped.
“Yes,” Jake said, his voice low. “You have that right.”
“How likely is this to happen?” I asked, more frustrated that I still had to put up with this shit than anything else. I was supposed to be happy by now, dammit.
“Highly,” Dominic answered.
“Which is why we’re taking precautions,” Hayes finally joined in, his heat at my back. “It’s late. We need to get going. Meeting at Rossy’s tomorrow, clear?”
The men nodded and then I was turned to Hayes’ Jeep.
The ride home was silent, and by the time I opened my front door, I was the one who wanted to explode.
I kept my back against the door, watching Hayes take off his coat and drape it over the back of my accent chair.
The air was thick, words needing to be said were being choked out, forced back under the rug, hidden with the rest of his troubles.
“We need to talk,” I told him. Though I wished my voice had been strong, fierce, and unwavering, it wasn’t. It was soft, almost timid. My heart knew the stakes. If I fucked this up or if he managed to convince himself that pushing me away would be the best course of action, I would never recover.
“It’s late,” he said over his shoulder.
And there it was.
The deflection.
“You wanted me to tell you that I loved you,” I said, firmer, louder. Stronger.
“Margo, it’s late.” He sighed, turning around to face me.
At least he was bold enough to look me in the eye.
“You shut me out,” I declared.
His eyes dropped, drinking me in. “You still have your coat on.”
“And I will not take it off until you agree to sit down and have this conversation.”
“There’s—”
“You can lie to everyone else,” I whispered. “You have lied to me in the past, just as I have to you, but right now, don’t you dare lie to me, Hayes Mitchell.”
He stared at me, frozen in place, brow furrowed, jaw tight.
“You can’t blow this off. Not with me.”
“I just need to get out of my head,” he finally said.
“And I need you to let me in it.”
He flinched then. The big, strong, brave, and perfect Hayes Mitchell—my Superman—flinched.
The movement rocked me. If I hadn’t been leaning against the door, I would have stumbled back.
The force of this minuscule movement and the fear with it, hit me like a fist to my gut.
Nausea followed as the man before me transformed into a stranger without moving a single muscle.
It was all in his eyes. The sturdy green trees within his irises had shrunk, withering to only weeds as the dark voids of his pupils expanded.
He looked like an abused animal who had been cornered.
“Trust me, Temper, you don’t want inside my head,” he whispered gravely, his upper lip curling.
He brought his finger up to his temple, tapping it twice.
My pulse began to jump under my skin, skittering under the curves and swirls of ink as my heart prepared my body for the worst. “If I let you in here, you’ll never love me. ”
Now it was my turn to flinch.
“I don’t—Hayes, there’s nothing you could do to change the way I feel about you.” I lifted my foot to take a step forward, to close the distance between us, the tips of my fingers aching for the warmth of his skin.
“And how do you feel about me?” he shot back, dropping his hand. His head cocked to the side, eyes narrowing it. “You’ve been reluctant to tell me.”
I blinked and raised my chin. “You demanded that I give you more of me when I have none of you.”
His jaw jumped.
I gestured between us. “This needs to be a give and take, baby,” I whispered.
“Don’t call me that,” he clipped.
My back hit the door again, the air in my lungs rushing out. “Wh-what?” I could feel myself paling, the nausea growing as my heart skidded to a halt.
“You have only called me baby when my cock is inside you,” he continued. “Don’t take that and put it here. That doesn’t belong here, when we’re fighting.”
“Who says we’re fighting?” I rasped, shaking my head in confusion. “All I want is a conversation.”
“You get inside my head, it’ll be a fight.” He dropped his head and put his hands on his hips. He stared at the floor for some time, the only sound the low hum of the refrigerator—no longer dying because Hayes fixed it. “You can’t know. You were never supposed to know.”
Thank God I hadn’t taken my coat off. As the cold feeling of dread ran down my spine, I refused to shiver.
I did everything in my power to remain still, to give nothing away.
I couldn’t let him see how he was about to break me.
I’d made a promise to myself after escaping Gordon, that no man would ever get the satisfaction of witnessing me break.
Still, against my wishes, my eyes began to sting.
“All I want,” I pushed out thickly, “is the truth from you. I gave you mine. Now I’m asking for yours.”