18. Connor
Chapter 18
Connor
I'm typing away on my laptop, running surveillance data through our systems, but my mind keeps drifting back to that surreal car ride bring her back here. Tatum Cope, senator's wife turned willing kidnapping victim, belting out "Sweet Home Alabama" like she was on a road trip with fucking friends instead of being abducted by criminals.
"Turn it up!" she'd called from the backseat, somehow making Dom - our usually stoic leader - crack a smile and crank the volume.
I look up from my laptop as footsteps echo down the stairs. My breath catches. Tatum descends wearing my Underoath band shirt, paired with form-fitting black yoga pants that leave little to imagination. Her wet hair is piled high in a messy bun, water droplets trailing down her neck. Not going to lie, something about seeing her in my shirt does something to me.
"Any word from my savior with my burger?" She drops onto the couch across from me, tucking her legs underneath her. Without all that makeup and fancy clothes, she looks younger, more real.
"He just texted. Should be back in ten." I try to keep my eyes on my screen but they keep drifting back to her. "You look... different."
"Good different or bad different?" She raises an eyebrow, a hint of that self-consciousness creeping in.
"Just different. More yourself, maybe." I shake my hair out of my eyes. "Must be nice getting out of those stuffy clothes."
"God, yes." She stretches her arms overhead, the shirt riding up. "I haven't worn yoga pants in public for years. Thomas said they're beneath my station or some bullshit."
"Your station as arm candy?" The words come out sharper than intended.
"Exactly." She laughs but there's an edge to it. "Can't have the first lady looking comfortable, can we?"
Dom walks in from the kitchen, and stops short. "Well damn, Stepford Barbie cleans up nice, or down nice. I don't know."
"Bite me," Tatum shoots back, but she's grinning. "But thanks, I think."
"Careful what you wish for, princess." Dom winks at her before turning to me. "Any movement on the feeds from his office?"
"Nothing yet." I force my attention back to the surveillance footage.
The front door bangs open and Isaac strides in carrying greasy paper bags. The smell of fast food fills the room.
"Here's your heart attack in a bag." He tosses one to Tatum, who catches it with surprising dexterity.
"Oh my god, wait until I get divorced and I'll marry you." Issac looks shell shocked, and I don't miss the sudden flare of jealousy within me. I've got to get my shit together.
She tears into the bag like she hasn't eaten in days. She probably hasn't - After the comment about her ass, I'm sure Thomas is the type to count her calories.
I watch as she takes her first bite, closing her eyes in pure bliss. A small moan escapes her lips and my pants suddenly feel a bit tighter. I shift in my chair, grateful for the laptop covering my lap.
"So, let's just air all the dirty laundry, right off the bat. What exactly is he all involved in?" Tatum asks between bites, licking salt from her fingers.
Dom exchanges glances with Isaac and me before shrugging. "Your boy's been helping move product across the coast. Drugs mainly, some weapons."
"He's also been laundering money through his campaign funds," I add, grabbing a fry from the communal bag.
"That's why we needed the hard drive data," Isaac chimes in, his Irish lilt more pronounced when he's relaxed. "The idiot's keeping records."
Tatum snorts. "That tracks. He keeps all the grocery receipts."
"The real kicker is he thinks he's working with another shady businessman," Dom says with a smirk. "Has no clue he's dealing with Esteban Rodriguez's crew."
"Fucking hilarious," she laughs. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall when he figures that one out."
I close my laptop, giving up any pretense of work. "Your husband's in way over his perfectly-coiffed head."
"Hell yes." She takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Serves him right."
Her foul mouth, and her hell bent nature on screwing Thomas over makes her even more attractive. I need to get a fucking grip sooner rather than later.
"Enough about me, what's your story Connor?" she asks, wadding up her burger wrapper and tossing it into the bag with perfect aim. "How'd you all end up working for the most dangerous man in Connecticut?"
I exchange glances with Dom and Isaac.
"That's not really first date conversation material, princess," Dom says, his tone carrying a warning edge.
She rolls her eyes. "Come on. I'm already complicit in whatever this is." She waves her hand at the surveillance equipment. "Besides, Thomas talks about his boarding school days enough for ten people. I'd kill to hear literally any other life story."
"Kill, huh?" Isaac's lip quirks. "Careful there. Some of us actually have."
"Nice." She doesn't even flinch. "Maybe you can give me pointers."
I can't help the laugh that escapes. "You're crazy, you know that?"
"Eh, I've been called worse." She stretches, my damn t-shirt riding up. "Just throw me a bone here. I'm bored out of my mind and you three are way more interesting than my usual social circle."
"We're not exactly the kind of guys you want to get to know," I warn her, but my resolve is weakening. There's something magnetic about her complete lack of fear.
"I know, I know - you're dangerous, you're criminals, you've done terrible things… blah blah." She ticks off on her fingers. "Newsflash: I'm married to a man who's probably gotten people killed over shipping manifestos. At least you guys are honest about who you are."
Dom lets out a low whistle. "She's got us there."
"Fine." I lean forward, meeting her eager gaze. "But don't say we didn't warn you."
"That I can handle," she smiles.
"Well, I grew up on the wrong side of everything," I begin, watching Tatum's face for any sign of judgment. "Foster care, juvie, the works. Met Dom inside when I was seventeen - he was doing a stint for grand theft auto."
"Let me guess - you were in for hacking into the school server or something?" She tilts her head, studying me.
"What gave it away?"
"The way you handle tech. Plus, you've got that smartass look about you."
Dom snorts. "She's got your number, Connor."
"Anyway," I continue, shooting Dom a glare, "when we got out, Dom introduced me to Esteban. Turns out my particular skill set was useful for more than just breaking into school computers to change grades."
"Now he's our resident tech genius," Isaac adds. "Though he's handy in a fight too when he's not hiding behind his laptop."
"I prefer to think of it as tactical support," I drawl, making Tatum laugh.
"So what happened to make you start doing this long term?" she asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.
"Same thing that happens to most of us - needed the money, needed the family." I shrug, trying to keep my voice neutral. "When you've got nothing, loyalty to someone like Esteban means everything."
"Even if that loyalty means doing terrible things?"
"Especially then." I meet her gaze steadily. "The world's not black and white. Sometimes the worst people wear suits and get elected to office."
"Don't I know it." She looks down at her hands. "At least you chose your cage. I was sold into mine."
The room goes quiet. There's something in her voice that makes my chest tight - a resigned bitterness that doesn't belong in someone so young.
She clears her throat shifts her attention to Isaac, who's been quietly watching our exchange from his perch on the arm of the couch. His tattoo catches the light as he tilts his head.
"What about you, muscles? What's your story?"
"Eh, not much to tell." His Irish accent thickens, something I've noticed happens when he's thinking about the past. "Born in Dublin. My Dad ran guns for the IRA, got himself killed when I was fourteen. My Mum couldn't handle it, started hitting the bottle hard."
"That's why the head tattoo?" Tatum gestures to the intricate Celtic knots winding around his skull. "Rebellion against mom?"
"Nah." He runs a hand over the design. "Got it after she died. It's protection runes. Old Irish stuff."
"Does it work?" There's no mockery in her voice, just genuine curiosity.
"I'm still breathing, aren't I?" He cracks a rare smile. "Came to the States when I was eighteen. Fell in with some rough crowds, did some enforcement work. Met Dom in a bar fight - he was impressed I took down three guys without breaking a sweat."
"And now you break kneecaps professionally?"
"When necessary." Isaac's green eyes harden. "But I prefer to think of it as problem-solving through applied force."
"That's just a fancy way of saying you beat the shit out of people," she teases.
"Says the woman who married a man who destroys lives with a pen stroke." His tone is light but pointed.
"Touché." She tips an imaginary hat at him.
I study Tatum as she curls deeper into our couch, completely at ease despite her situation. Most people we bring here are terrified - and for good reason. But she's acting like this is some casual hangout session.
"So Dom, your turn for story time," she says, pointing at him with a french fry. "Let me guess - ex-military?"
Dom exchanges a look with me, clearly as thrown off by her friendly interrogation as I am. "Something like that. Marines."
"Did his crew cut give it away?" I ask, trying to maintain some professional distance despite finding myself oddly charmed by her genuine interest.
"That and the way he moves." She shrugs. "My brother was military too. You all have that same purposeful walk."
"You're pretty observant for a trophy wife," Isaac notes, his tone carrying a hint of suspicion.
"When you spend years playing the perfect political accessory, you learn to read people." She stretches her legs out, bare feet propped on our coffee table like she owns the place. "It's basically a survival skill."
"Speaking of survival," Dom cuts in, "you do realize you're sitting here trading life stories with three men who could kill you without breaking a sweat?"
"Yep." She pops the 'p' sound, completely unfazed. "But you won't."
"And why's that?" I lean forward, genuinely curious about her logic.
"Because I'm more valuable alive. Plus," she grins, "I make good conversation. Must be a nice change from your usual hostages."
I can't help but laugh at her audacity. "You're either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."
"Maybe both." She winks at me. "But hey, at least I'm entertaining."
Dom shakes his head, but I catch the hint of a smile. "You're something else, that's for sure."
"I'll take that as a compliment." She yawns, stretching like a cat. "Now, who's going to show me where I'm sleeping? Since we're doing this whole kidnapping thing properly and all.