CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ALLISON
The men decided it’d be safer to split up and take separate vehicles to the lunch spot for our meeting with the investigative journalist. Hugo and Luca are in a black Suburban ahead of us, while Jonah follows in a pickup truck. That leaves Mathias and I alone in his silver Audi.
“How did you know Tasha wouldn’t be able to continue as my therapist without being licensed in Massachusetts?” I ask from the passenger seat. Since learning of his behind-the-scenes machinations, my curiosity has grown.
I managed to curb my questions because he’s been busy compiling information on his dad, and I’ve been focused on volunteering at Polina’s Place. And enjoying the many Mathias-provided orgasms.
The right time for discussing my therapist never appeared, but now we have time to kill, and I'm desperate to get answers. Especially since Tasha and I have a virtual appointment set for tomorrow morning.
“The medical records Rafe sent listed her licenses and qualifications. When I saw the state mentioned, it made me wonder if therapists worked under similar rules as lawyers where you have to be certified in whatever state you want to practice in,” he explains, flipping on the turn signal to change lanes.
“From there, it was a simple phone call to Dr. Gomez. She tried to dismiss me with a bunch of patient-doctor confidentiality bullshit, but once I impressed upon her the importance of continuing her therapeutic relationship with you— that it was in her patient’s best interests —she agreed to apply for a license to practice in Massachusetts. Usually it takes four to six weeks to finalize, but Rafe pushed it through much sooner.”
“You have a copy of my medical records?” I swear the man has no boundaries.
What was your first clue? When he hacked into your bank account? Or when he commandeered a doctor for a home visit?
At least those results came back without any problems. Another health issue would have been the last straw.
My thirteenth reason , I privately joke.
Suicide isn't funny, but if my feelings don't allow for dark humor, then I'd really be screwed. Because sometimes a girl's just got to laugh at her fucked-up brain chemistry.
Historic brownstones pass along my right as we continue driving toward the coffee shop where our meeting is taking place. It’s in downtown Boston and near the Mass News headquarters to make it an easy commute for Valerie.
The manor is about forty minutes outside the heart of the city, and with the change of scenery, it seems we’re almost to our destination.
“Of course. I need to know your history, especially if I’m going to advocate for you.”
Well, when he puts it like that…
Mathias has the uncanny ability to make an invasion of privacy seem like an act of protection, and it really fucks with my head. Because all I’ve ever wanted is to feel safe and secure.
Wanted.
Not alone.
I bang my head against the seat’s headrest and groan. “For someone who scared the hell out of me in Paris, you’re nothing like I expected.”
“Don’t think I’m not that man just because I’m excellent at keeping my promises. Like the one I made to care for you,” he says, parallel parking on the street. “I’m still dangerous to be around. Just not for you.”
Mathias winks, and it’s so unexpected from his usually stoic expression that I sit stunned for a minute. Long enough for him to round the car, open my door, and unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Come on. We’ve got ten minutes to walk a block to meet Valerie. There’ll even be a hot caramel macchiato waiting for you when we arrive.”
Because of course he ordered my favorite drink ahead of time.
The coffee shop bustles with locals grabbing their afternoon pick-me-up. Mathias and I skip the line and find our two drinks waiting on the front counter before heading back outside where Jonah procured a table on the sidewalk.
It’s a little chilly for an outdoor meet-up, but the guys preferred the option of multiple exits rather than being surrounded by four walls. And who was I to argue with their tactical training?
“Relax,” Mathias murmurs in my ear, holding out a metal chair for me to sit in.
I lower my bunched shoulders and try for an outwardly calm demeanor. This is my first foray into his world, and it feels a little too close to The Sopranos right now.
Mathias slings an arm over my shoulders like we're a normal couple out for coffee with a friend. Jonah sits across the table. Hugo and Luca remain hidden somewhere on the street to keep tabs on us in case something goes wrong, while Rafe monitors everything from the manor.
The other two Blackchapel Bastards, the brothers Dmitri and Aleksei, are busy, I guess—since one runs Blackthorn and the other is undercover in prison.
A young woman dressed in slacks and a fashionable blazer approaches our table, and I admire the business chic look she’s got going on. I’ve seen videos of plus-sized fashion influencers showing off different outfits—my favorite is a woman named Nora who lives in a cute little mountain town called Suitor’s Crossing—but this is the first time I've seen someone in the wild rock such a trendy look. It puts my basic sweater and jeans to shame.
“Hi, I’m Valerie Hale with Mass News.” She offers a manicured hand to me and Mathias then turns to Jonah, her movement faltering before she quickly recovers. “Thank you for reaching out. I had no idea Senator Anderson has an illegitimate son. He hides you very well.”
“Can’t blemish his perfect political record,” Jonah quips. His gaze hasn’t left Valerie from the moment she arrived, and I wonder if this is another instance of a Blackchapel Bastard questioning a woman’s willingness to help him.
Like Mathias did with me.
“He’ll need to get over that, considering perfection is the opposite of how I’d describe his tenure with the government,” Valerie says, occupying the last free chair at our table. She rests her leather tote in her lap while extracting a manila folder from its interior. “I hope that doesn’t bother you. That I’ll be reporting the truth about your father. It’s not pretty.”
Jonah and Mathias share a look then break into grins. “Anderson’s dirty dealings are hardly news to us, which is why we asked for this meeting. We’d like to hear what you’ve learned and potentially offer our help. There’s also the chance of another story that might interest you.”
“Oh?” Valerie’s brow raises as she sets the folder down and lowers the tote to the ground. Positioning her phone near the small centerpiece of fake flowers on the table, she asks, “Do you mind if I record our conversation? I promise it’ll be kept between us.”
The men nod, and one pink-tipped finger taps a button on the screen before Valerie launches into the details of her article, stunning me with how thorough her research is.
When I was in middle school, I toyed with the idea of becoming a journalist. There were always episodes in my favorite shows that featured a newspaper editor doling out interesting article ideas, while the writers got special privileges like going backstage at a concert to write a press release.
It seemed like an exciting job until I realized how much talking to strangers it involved. That’s when I set that dream aside and forgot about becoming the next Barbara Walters.
But Valerie provides insight into the path not taken. I could’ve been the sexy sleuth penning a hard-hitting exposé about political corruption if I’d been braver.
Mathias’s concern over Valerie feeling uncomfortable with the two men was probably unfounded. I can’t imagine anything intimidating a woman willing to expose a prominent senator’s wrongdoing. That’s dangerous business in and of itself.
Which is why it shouldn’t be a surprise when a single gunshot rings out, shattering the vase of flowers on our table.
“Get down!” Mathias shouts. His arm circles my shoulders as he drags me out of the chair and into his chest, both of us hunched over as he leads us to safety.
Another shot blasts through the air, causing PTSD to flare to life. I went my whole life never experiencing true danger. I dealt with emotional neglect and mental turmoil, but my parents never physically abused me. Now, I’ve been in the line of bullets twice.
Thanks to the Blackchapel Bastard determined to keep me.
Thanks to Mathias Beaumont.