Chapter 20 - August
My brain fritzes the moment she comes out of the bathroom, tight black leather jacket zipped low enough to frame the swell of her bust. Beneath it, a buttercup sundress, riding high on her thigh. A trap disguised as innocence that’ll hike up the second she gets on the back of my bike.
The world slows as she walks to me, hips swaying, sunlight catching the streaks in her hair and the pink blended with blue in the corner of her eyelids.
Dress goddamn rippling around her legs like a slow-motion romantic trailer.
Every step hammers my restraint, urging me to shake off my helmet, give her my face, and get down on my knees to worship her.
My jaw grits. “Are you trying to cause a traffic accident? Because I’ll bust someone’s side mirror for leering at you.”
Grayson will have to scrub another incident off the public record.
Pink cheekbones lift into a devilish smile, and she leans in close, pressing a painted finger to my helmeted chin. “Did the green stalker show up today? I thought you had self-control?”
Little she-devil.
“When we’re done here,” I growl. “You’re riding up front, and my fingers are going into your panties until you’re begging for forgiveness.”
Her wicked smile stretches wider. “I’ll wear short dresses more often, Grumpy Daddy.”
I lift a backpack from the floor and thread it over my shoulder to stop myself from throwing her on the bed and fucking that triumphant smile off her face. It’s packed with fresh clothes, toiletries, and food for our next task.
I steal Kate’s hand. “You’re going to start a war, Glitter Bomb.”
She leans up on her tiptoes and paints a cheery gloss kiss on the bottom of my visor.
For a second, I forget the brewing war, the mission, even my name.
I almost take off my helmet, reach for her chin, tilt her face, and kiss her until she forgets why she lost her true smile.
My hands ache from pressing them tightly to my side.
If I start now, I won’t stop breathing more darkness into her.
“Fiend.” I crack her on the ass and tug her downstairs, exiting her house.
PJ3 whines inside. Little guy thinks he’s human.
When we reach my bike parked two blocks away, she sasses me more. “Looks like you’ll have your work cut out for you, changing your hiding spot as well as your license plate.”
I curl my thumb and forefinger over her chin. “My work’s cut out for me keeping your mouth busy.”
“Don’t worry, Grumpy Daddy,” she reassures. “I won’t tell anybody about your plates or parking spot. I’m a good girl who deserves to be bent over your bike and ruined for all other men.”
This woman will ruin me.
I bend my helmet to her forehead, a kiss through polycarbonate. “Good girls get rewards.”
She shivers and strokes my arm.
Needing to leave, I reluctantly pull away and remove the backpack and fit it to her shoulders since it’s easier to ride that way without it digging into her stomach.
I get on the bike, start it, and pat the back seat for her.
She gives my helmet another kiss before swinging on behind me, dropping her helmet on.
Temptation to bend her over the bike and eat her out on the pavement for all her neighbors to see is overwhelming.
Once she’s secure, I slide on my riding gloves and take off before I wreck her.
The feel of her pressed to my back is even better the second time around.
Little she-devil maps my chest, stomach, and shoulders with her hands, and slips under my jacket, pinching my nipples and playing with the hair on my stomach and chest. The ride is pure torture, and by the time we pull off the main road, my cock’s pressing against my jeans, and my self-control’s holding on by a thread.
I pull up in the underpass camp no one wants to admit exists.
Blue tarps and tents lean against each other like old friends holding each other, some torn and patched with duct tape and determination.
Bulging plastic bags contain clothing, food, toys, or mementos, the sum of a life that can be carried.
Milk crates and camping tables warped by time and dirt act as seats and stands for those eating.
Kate dismounts and removes her helmet, fluffing life into her flattened hair with one hand. Even with helmet hair and smudged lip gloss, she’s sunshine in the middle of despair. Too bright for a place like this.
She sets her helmet on the back seat and scans the camp with a soft curiosity. “You sure know how to impress a girl.”
“The date comes later.” I take the rucksack off her and carry it. “First, I want you to meet someone.”
I take her hand and lead her through the maze of lives suspended in survival. Muttering voices fall silent at our entrance. The kind of hush that precedes a storm.
Smoke curls out from rusted barrels serving as fireplaces, where residents stand around and warm themselves, murmuring at arrival, gazes panning the length of my guest. Scents mingle together, woodsmoke, dust, damp earth, rust, and the sharp edge of survival, bodies in desperate need of a shower.
Kate sniffs and wipes her nose. Most of that doesn’t penetrate my helmet, but I’ve been here many times before to visit my contact.
“Who are we meeting?” Kate scans the weary, lined, and dirty faces studying her.
Men in military jackets suck on cigarettes. A mother braids the hair of her daughter. A teen on a skateboard wheels over the angled concrete. An elderly woman slurps on a can of beans, her spoon long lost.
“You’ll see.” If I tell her, she may have second thoughts about our agreement.
We stop at a folding chair propped beside a rusting fire ring. The man in it hunches forward, sharpening a knife.
“Brought you something, Barry.” I drop the bag with the food down for his dog, Daisy, to inspect, and the coarse-haired mutt in desperate need of a bath sniffs it and paws at the material.
“More tins?” he grunts, making Kate flinch.
“Didn’t have time to grab bread,” I admit. “Or fresh anything. Sorry.”
He doesn’t need to know I’ve been busy watching Kate and determining the threat level she presents to Spartacus. I’ll be back next week with a van piled with fresh food from the farmer’s markets to feed everyone. They took care of a close friend, and I’ll repay that debt.
Barry nods once, eyes slowly narrowing as they land on my companion. His stare is hard and steady, a man who’s seen too much. “Who’s this?”
“This is Kate. She’s a reporter investigating the Romans,” I say. “Thought you might want to talk to her.”
He sheaths his knife in one quick motion and jerks his chin at a warped milk crate. “What’d they do to you?”
Kate stiffens, glancing up at me as if calculating the cost of answering.
“I reported the Ares’ heir for assaulting me.
Lost my job, reputation, and the career I was building.
” She stops short of mentioning her father, which is for the best. Those in the camp won’t speak to her if they know she’s Roman bloodline.
I stroke the sides of her shoulders, showing her I’m her tether, and she’s not alone in this while I’m standing and breathing.
“Yeah, they do that,” Barry grunts. “Sit. Hear my story.”
Kate hesitates, then tugs down her skirt, suddenly aware of the exposure. “Thank you. I want to honor your story the right way.”
I remain standing behind her, one hand on her shoulder, reassuring her she’s safe here.
Daisy, his dog, creeps closer, sniffing Kate’s boots. She freezes but doesn’t pull away. Barry cracks a can of dog food and dumps it into a rusty bowl, and the mutt abandons her for the food.
“Before we go any further, Barry.” Kate’s voice is barely audible over the rush of traffic overhead. “I must ask… do you want this story on or off the record? I’m bound by duty to protect my sources, and the law protects whistleblowers.”
“The law in Shadow Lake is for show,” he scoffs. “It protects those who really run this city.”
The Romans pull the strings. Eight houses, each with their slice of control. Mercury controls the flow of information. Mars, the muscle. Jupiter, the money and sits at the top of the pyramid. They leave the rest of us to choose on whatever scraps remain.
“Put me on the damn record,” Barry adds. “They’ve already taken everything from me. What can they do now?”
A man with nothing to lose is what the system fears most. A powder keg to their domination.
Kate reaches for her phone from her clutch. “May I take notes?”
“No recordings,” Barry snaps.
“Just notes,” she promises, opening an app. “Tell me your story.”
Barry exhales and scrapes a dirty hand over his wiry gray beard. “I don’t look like much now, but I used to work for Enterotech.”
Kate’s brows lift as if she recognizes the name.
A massive pharmaceutical company, owned by the Venus family, manufactures drugs for hypertension, heart disease, and weight loss.
Venus controls the health industry, medicines, beauty products, health supplements, and is one of the richest Roman families, using their wealth to sway smaller families.
“I was the Chief Scientist and developed a GLP-1 drug for diabetes and weight loss.” He speaks like a man digging a corpse from a grave, relaying drug trials and buried reports outlining side effects of pancreatitis, thyroid cancer, and organ failure, one by one.
Naming each. Not letting any of it stay buried.
Barry leans over the side of his seat to collect his coffee flask and pour himself a cup. “They forced me to falsify reports. Threatened to fire me and blacklist me. Was told the board wouldn’t care as long as profits held.”
Kate types fast and focused, her lips pressed tight.
“My grandmother took that drug,” I say quietly, cutting in. “Nine months later, she was gone.”
Barry meets my eye. “The drug’s harmed a lot of people.”
Heavy silence stretches between us.