Chapter Eight
Trigger
It’s been ten years since I spent an entire night with a woman.
I’ve always kept my relations simple with clear rules exchanged.
Not spending the night means no attachments.
This rule has less to do with the woman ten years ago who I barely remember and more to do with my past before she briefly popped into it.
No, I avoided getting too attached to people long before I met her.
Growing up in foster care will do that to a person.
I often questioned if it would have been easier for me to get closer to people if I stayed in one place for longer. Or if I remembered anything about my parents. But this is just the way I am—I moved around, never really felt like I belonged anywhere until I joined the Steel Rebels.
“Why did you join the Marines?”
Maeve’s sweet voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to look at her.
Her eyes are still closed but Christ, she looks like an angel with the morning light catching in her blond hair, making it glow.
I watch as the sunlight dances across that beautiful face, highlighting the curve of her cheeks and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.
“Most people ask why I left the Marines,” I muse, reaching out to trace my fingertips over her cheeks.
“Why you get in often determines why you leave.”
Huh. “So why did you decide to major in criminal law?”
She opens a single eye and flashes me a grin. “I asked first.”
I smile, but because talking about my past always puts me in a sour mood, I decide I might as well get up.
“I just…never really had a place where I belonged,” I say nonchalantly, pushing off the covers and climbing out of bed.
“Grew up in foster care, turned nineteen…could have gone to college but saw the Marines recruiting and I signed right up. Didn’t think much about it at the time. ”
She hums, taking in the information. “I got into law school to prove to my father I could. I always wanted to be like him, and it was something I enjoyed and was interested in, but I think it was also to spite him, a little bit.”
“You surprise me, Miss Halloway.”
She chuckles as she sits up. The covers drop off her shoulders, and she’s not naked but I could rectify that.
I could tear off the thin top she went to bed with last night, but I suppose I’ve got to let the girl breathe after everything that happened yesterday.
I couldn’t stop touching her; it was like a celibate breaking their fast after spending ten years in prison.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Maeve chuckles, tugging the covers back over her chest, but there’s a pretty tint on her cheeks that tells me she doesn’t mean it. “Do you ever rest? Christ, you must take vitamins or something.”
“No vitamins, sweetheart,” I drawl, running my eyes over her form. “Just you.”
The flush on her cheeks deepens so I decide to give her a break.
I slip into the shower first and take a cold one if only to calm my erection.
I consider rubbing one off at the thought of the beautiful woman in the other room, but decide against it.
I’m not wasting my cum on the fucking shower floor.
I have the whole day free and I intend to spend it helping her recover until she can take me again.
Maeve is still in bed when I emerge, and seems to have fallen back to sleep, so I decide to let her be.
It’s still early yet and there’s no use in both of us being up early.
I slip into my jeans and shrug on my shirt, leaving it unbuttoned as I head to the kitchen to make us breakfast. I’m humming as I fry the eggs, and it takes me by surprise when I realize I’m doing it.
I never fucking hum. I didn’t even think I knew one song to hum, and yet here I am smiling like a fool after spending the night with my attorney, making love to her in as many positions as we could fit into one night.
I’m still smiling as I plate the breakfast. I grab my coffee and head to the living room, intent on heading out to her balcony to wait for her when something grabs my attention.
I smile at the colored sticky notes pasted all over the coffee table.
It’s obvious my little attorney has been working herself to exhaustion if the clutter is anything to go by.
I lean down to pick up a sheet that has dropped to the floor, gently placing it on the coffee table, when I spot something that sends a chill running down my spine.
Written in bold on a yellow sticky note is a name I will never forget, but that’s not what stops me, it’s the words scribbled under it that send my jaw clenching as blood pounds furiously in my ears.
Call Dad and Gareth for lunch to discuss the case.
Gareth Jones is the cop who framed me; how does Maeve know him well enough to invite him to lunch?
And who’s her dad? I nudge the paper aside but I don’t need to look far to find the answer.
On another file, she’s circled the name of the supervising prosecutor from my case ten years ago, with another note to herself that reads Dad was involved? ?
“Please tell me you made an extra cup of coffee,” a voice calls out from behind me.
I turn to see Maeve walk into the room, dressed in nothing but a spaghetti-strap top and sleeping shorts.
Even now, as betrayal simmers in my chest, my cock still takes notice of her sexy body.
Begs me to forgive and forget the past and just have her.
But I can’t forget…and this might be impossible to forgive.
For the first time, I begin to question how easy it was for her to secure my bail.
All these people—lawyers and cops—know each other.
They socialize. I know for fucking certain that’s how my freedom was stolen, but now I find myself wondering if my freedom was granted for the same reason.
Friends and relatives running the justice system.
Owing each other favors. I hate myself for the thoughts, but I can’t help but wonder why Maeve took on my case.
Am I just a pet project her daddy got for her?
“I’m leaving,” I grind out, dropping the files back on the coffee table and walking past her to the kitchen. I place my coffee cup on the kitchen counter with a loud snap. I want to chuck it across the room and into the wall but despite myself, I don’t want to scare her.
It’s stupid that I care. Even after everything…I still fucking care.
“Hey, where are you going?” Maeve asks, sounding panicked, following me to the door. “Trigger—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew the officer who put me in jail, and the prosecutor who helped him along?”
She freezes at my words, her eyes widening in surprise. “I…I…”
“Right,” I say, buttoning my shirt before grabbing my jacket and shrugging it on. I slip into my boots and reach for the door when she grapples for my hand.
“No, wait!” she cries out, her nails digging into my skin. “I didn’t know…I mean, not until I checked the case file yesterday. I had no idea that the Jones you were talking about was my father’s friend, or that the woman you spent the night with was his ex, Anya Jones.”
“Do you really want me to believe that?”
“I’m telling you the truth. My dad and I don’t discuss his cases, and he wasn’t even directly involved. I had no idea Gareth would do something like this, but I’m meeting them today and we’ll clear everything up. I’ll talk them into dropping the charges and then we’ll fix everything.”
Fix? I nearly laugh at the word.
“How the hell does one fix being wrongly accused and spending six fucking years in jail and the other four in fucking chains?” I hiss, firing up with a rare display of the anger I always keep tucked away.
“I was barred from leaving the country and had to surrender my passport, was given a curfew like a fucking ten-year-old, and had to make regular check-ins with the same people that locked me up. I lost my gun ownership rights.”
I run my fingers through my hair at the memory of having to give up my weapon collection. Saint did manage to save most of my guns before the cops could grab them all, but the loss fucking stung.
“My name, Trigger, is an identity I carried over from the Marines. It’s not just some stupid nickname, Maeve.
I was the best scout sniper, not just in my platoon but in the battalion.
I joined the Marines because I had nothing and nowhere to go, but I left with an identity.
And then your family friend stole that from me! ”
I watch her eyes well up with tears, feeling a desperate need to reach out and touch her, comfort her.
But instead I simply shrug off her hand and walk out the door.
There’s a dark cloud of rage around me that’s apparently visible, as when I step into the elevator, the dog and his goatee owner shrink to the back and away from me.
My fingers itch for a release.
I haven’t felt this fucking helpless in a long time. The last time was when I realized I was being framed ten years ago. Realized there was no fighting it, that the system was rigged against me and I’d be going to jail for something I didn’t do.
My whole life, I’ve always looked out for myself, kept my chin up despite never having any real family.
I just always tried to do the right thing.
Whatever the next right thing was. That’s how I got all those medals.
I was good at my job. I was a good Marine.
And then I realized that all that being good got me fucking nowhere.
People jump out of my way as I storm out of the building and head straight to my bike.
It’s tempting to speed back to the clubhouse, but I can’t get pulled over—they would just fucking arrest me to spite me and revoke my parole.
With how hard my blood is boiling, I’m surprised I even make it to the clubhouse instead of just driving to the police station and giving Gareth Jones the attention he’s been begging for. Fucking asshole.
“Hey, Trigger!”