Chapter Nine
Veda
I woke up sore in places I didn’t know could be sore.
My ribs still throbbed where I’d hit the alley floor two nights ago.
My palm pulsed under fresh gauze. My thighs ached in a way that had nothing to do with the bike crash and everything to do with the man who’d held my wrists above my head and fucked me until I forgot my own name.
Somewhere under my left shoulder blade, a bruise the size of a fist made itself known when I shifted against the mattress.
The room smelled like coffee. I cracked one eye open and saw a thin slice of gray morning leaking past the edge of a heavy curtain. I had no idea what time it was. I didn’t know what day it was. I knew Griffin’s pillow under my cheek still smelled like him and, despite everything, I smiled.
Griffin sat on the foot of the bed with his back to me. Bare shoulders, dark ink crawling down to his elbows, a pair of jeans hung low on his hips and nothing else. He had a mug in one hand and his phone in the other, thumb scrolling slowly, and the line of his back was relaxed.
I should have said something. Made a joke. Cleared my throat. Instead, I lay there and watched him for a long, stupid minute, because seeing him quiet like that felt like a thing I was stealing, something no one but me got to see.
He spoke without turning around. “You’re starin’, honey.”
“I’m assessing.” Just because he called me out didn’t mean I’d cop to anything.
“Assessing what?”
“Whether you’re a flight risk.” I rolled onto my back, winced when my ribs protested, then settled.
“You look like a man who’s about to bolt out the door and pretend none of this happened.
” Right. Like I hadn’t been considering the same thing.
Not because I didn’t enjoy the hell outta myself, but because I enjoyed the fuck outta myself.
He turned his head just enough that I caught the curve of his mouth. “Pretty sure if I tried to bolt right now, I’d pull a hamstring.”
“Good. I take that as a personal compliment.” I gave him a cheerful, if sleepy, smile.
“You should.” He nodded to the nightstand where a steaming mug of coffee was within easy reach. “Cream, no sugar.”
I dragged a hand down my face and tried to find my voice. “What time is it?”
“Little after nine.”
“Christ.” I sat up, holding the sheet to my chest, and reached for the coffee mug, bringing it to my lips and taking a tentative sip. Then a larger gulp as the ambrosia of the gods slid down my throat to give me a hit of energy.
“You needed the sleep.” He stood and stretched, the muscles across his back making the ink ripple.
Christ, the man was sex on a big, muscled stick.
How could he look so gorgeous when I probably looked like I’d been ridden hard and put up wet?
What’s worse, the man hadn’t asked how I took my coffee, but he’d guessed right. Which annoyed me a little.
He handed me a folded gray T-shirt. “Yours got blood on it. Mine’s clean.”
“Thank you.” Then I registered what he’d said. “Wait. Yours?”
“Mm.” Apparently, his grunt was all I got.
I sipped the coffee. It was good. Griffin watched me drink without saying anything, and the quiet between us felt… fucking normal.
“Eggs or toast?” he asked.
“What?”
“Eggs or toast, Veda. I’m makin’ breakfast.”
“Both?”
“Greedy.” He stood again. “Eggs or toast. Pick one.”
I blinked, not sure I understood the conversation. The wicked expression on his face when he looked at me scrambled my brain more than the eggs he’d offered. “Uh…”
“Toast it is.” He padded barefoot toward the door.
“You’re a fucking asshole.” I didn’t put any real heat behind my words.
“So I’ve been told.” He chuckled as he disappeared out the doorway.
I sat there with the mug in both hands and tried to figure out what I was supposed to do with any of this. I felt like my whole life bounced from one crisis to another and I’d barely had a chance to breathe.
Had I made a bad choice by fucking Griffin?
Maybe. Did I particularly care? Not in the slightest. I wasn’t too proud to admit the man had rocked my world last night.
Even if I only got one night -- and I fully expected this to be a temporary hook-up -- Griffin had given me the most spectacular night of my life thus far.
So I refused to regret one fucking second of our time together.
I pulled the T-shirt over my head. It hung past my hips, the cotton soft enough to suggest it had been washed a thousand times.
It smelled a little like some kind of fresh laundry detergent and a whole lot like Griffin, which was probably a problem I didn’t have the bandwidth to examine yet.
I needed way more coffee than this mug would hold and something other than toast to have the necessary brain power.
I walked into the main room on legs that felt new. He stood at the stove with his back to me, scrambling eggs in a pan, the bread already going gold in a small toaster oven on the counter beside him. He didn’t turn around when I came in.
“Thought I was getting toast.”
“Well, you called me an asshole. Kinda hurt.”
“Uh-huh.” I felt a smile tugging my lips, but I refused to surrender.
Griffin turned to look at me. “You sayin’ my feelings didn’t get hurt when you called me a mean name?”
Without hesitation I replied, “I’d bet my life.”
Griffin gave me a pitiful look. “I’m really hurt.” He put his hand over his heart. “It hurts right here.” He thumped his chest lightly. “Right here where Jesus lives.”
I snorted coffee out my nose. Griffin burst out laughing but still handed me a kitchen towel.
I took it gratefully and wiped my face and chin.
Then I quit fighting the humor. Christ, laughing felt good.
My whole body seemed lighter and, even though so much ahead of me might be uncertain, in this moment I could honestly say I was completely happy.
“I can help.”
“Too late. Sit your ass down. I’m almost done.” His grin was infectious. If I hadn’t already been smiling, I would be when he tossed that boyish look my way.
I sat at the round, two-person table. He set a plate in front of me. Eggs, toast, a wedge of orange. The orange surprised me more than anything else.
“Pippa and Gunnar brought up some stuff earlier,” he said. “Eat.”
The eggs were so delicious I knew I made embarrassing noises as I chewed and swallowed, thoroughly tasting each bite. The toast was buttered just enough. The more I ate, the wider his smile. Like he liked seeing me eat.
“Griffin.”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Last night.”
“Mm?” Why did men like to communicate in one-word sentences? Not even words. Just… grunts. I wanted to claw his eyes out.
OK, so not really.
I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. I picked up the orange wedge and plucked at the peel. “I don’t know what this is.”
He didn’t pretend not to understand. He set his fork down, leaned back in his chair, and looked at me across the small table with those steady green eyes. “Doesn’t have to be anything yet,” he said. “No reason it can’t just be breakfast.”
“I don’t…” I swallowed. “What do you want?”
Griffin’s phone trilled and for a long moment, he held my gaze. The phone stopped. He opened his mouth to speak, but the ring tone started again.
“Fuck,” Griffin muttered as he picked up the phone from the table and answered. “Yeah.” A small silence fell and Griffin’s gaze held mine. “Give us five minutes. She needs to finish her breakfast.” Another silence. “Got it. Ten minutes.”
“Everything OK?”
“Eat. Then I’ll tell you.”
“Griffin…” I gave him a warning look. “What’s going on?” My question sounded more like a demand.
“Knight’s got something on your sister. He needs us.”
I shoved the last bite of toast in my mouth without tasting it, watching Griffin move through the kitchen. His whole demeanor changed, like he was on edge now where he’d been relaxed.
He rinsed the dishes while I snagged a pair of jeans. Then he reached out for me. Without hesitation, I slid my hand into his. He held the door to let me exit first, but kept my hand in his as I stepped into the corridor.
The hallway outside Griffin’s apartment stretched the length of the building.
Somewhere down the corridor a door was open and the murmur of voices carried up the stairwell, low and male and not at all like men starting a casual morning.
My gut tightened in dread as Griffin guided me with his firm, gentle grip.
I let him, because my legs felt like rubber and because a gut-gnawing dread settled deep in my belly.
I didn’t know if I could make it without falling if he let me go.
Instead of going to an office, Griffin took me to a small conference room looking place.
Knight sat at the head of the table with his laptop open and a stack of printouts at his elbow.
His eyes still startled me every time I saw him, the inked black against the glacial blue of his irises.
Knuckles stood behind him with his arms crossed.
Gunnar leaned against the wall by the coffeepot.
Two men sat at the far end of the table.
The first one I recognized from a photograph I’d printed from the Internet six months ago when I was first trying to map out who held what in Nashville.
Antonio Miles. Tonio. Tall, broad, dark chestnut hair cut clean, a beard that looked like it cost a small fortune to maintain.
He wore an impeccable charcoal suit jacket over a black shirt, no tie, and he looked at me with a sharp, assessing gaze.
The second man sat to his right, smaller, and watched me with focused stillness.
Tonio inclined his head. “Miss Garrison.”
“Mr. Miles.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done your homework.”
I shrugged. “I had nothing better to do.”
Knuckles grinned and motioned to a couple of seats. “Sit.”
Griffin nodded to me and took the chair next to mine, close enough that his knee bumped my thigh under the table, and didn’t move it away. Knight turned the laptop so the screen faced toward the middle of the table where everyone could see.
“Let me walk you through what we’ve got,” Knight said.
He pulled up a flowchart, boxes connected by lines, names, and dates and dollar amounts threaded through it like veins.
“Your ledgers cracked the whole thing open. I’ve spent the last fourteen hours cross-referencing the codes against shipping manifests, court filings, and a couple of databases I probably shouldn’t be in.
” He shot Tonio a look. The other man raised an eyebrow but nodded.
“Shouldn’t be in legally or shouldn’t be in morally?” I asked, half joking.
Knight didn’t bat an eye. “Yes.”
Griffin huffed a laugh beside me. Knight ignored him and tapped the screen.
“Three transport hubs outside Nashville,” he said.
“One off I-65 south, near a freight company called Ballwell Logistics. One up by the Kentucky line, a salvage yard listed under three different LLCs that all trace back to the same holding company. One west, almost to Memphis, attached to a roadhouse that’s been a Steel Serpents hangout for the better part of a decade.
Women come in from out of state, get processed at the hubs, get cleaned up, then move through éclipse for the auction phase. ”
“Buyers,” Knight continued. He clicked. A new list. Initials in a column, full names beside them where he’d been able to make the match.
“There’s a state supreme court judge, three sheriff’s deputies, two in Davidson County, one in Williamson, taking flat payments to look the other way at specific dates and locations.
Two judges below the appellate level, and a state senator I’m still trying to find a confirmed second source for before I pass that on. ” He glanced at Tonio.
“Good,” Tonio said quietly.
“There are also three laundering fronts. éclipse you know. The import business on the ground floor of the same building. And several mid-scale restaurants in rural areas surrounding Nashville all owned by Renee Vossberg, who I am ninety-five percent sure is Iron’s sister-in-law.”
Knight clicked again.
“Special handling codes,” he said. “These are the ones that didn’t go through auction but went to private buyers.
” His voice flattened on the last words and I knew what was coming before he said it, but knowing didn’t help.
He scrolled. A list of two-letter codes, each one paired with a date and a buyer initial and a five-digit number that wasn’t a price but a person.
He stopped on one line. “This code matches your sister’s designation. The date is the date Veda said Tessa stopped answering her phone. The buyer’s initial is the letter ‘I’.”
“I’ve been chasing that letter for weeks. Since I first found the ledgers. Lord knows I’ve stared at my sister’s name reduced to what amounts to an item number on a shopping list. Not a human being, but something to be sold.” I knew I sounded angry and made no apologies. I had a right to be angry.
Knuckles uncrossed his arms. He looked at me across the table for a long moment, and whatever he saw in my face made him drop his chin once, a small, deliberate nod. “You were right,” he said. “About all of it. You found all of this yourself.”
“Pretty sure I told you I was right about all of it,” I snapped. Then I closed my eyes and took a breath.
“Veda.”
“Look, I appreciate your need for independent review and your own verification. I get it. But can we move along please? What’s the next move?”
“She’s not wrong,” Tonio said.
“Then it’s good the universe handed me a gift this morning.
” Knight grinned. “I intercepted a comm out of the Ballwell hub forty minutes ago. Which is why we’re all here right now.
There’s a transport scheduled. Tomorrow.
Two passengers. Special handling. They’re moving north along the éclipse corridor between eleven and midnight. ”
The room went very quiet.
“Who’s the buyer?” Gunnar finally asked.
Knight clicked one more time. A single capital letter “I” sat in the buyer field at the top of the manifest. The same letter in the buyer’s column next to my sister’s name on the screen beside it.
“Same one who was supposed to buy your sister,” Knight said. “Same fuckin’ one.”