30. Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
KURT
I sit in my truck just outside the police station, my hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, and I slam my palm against it, the horn blaring into the nearly empty lot. “Fuck!”
Everything’s crumbling, slipping through my fingers.
Noah and his little pack of bastards have been gone since yesterday, leaving me here, choking on the wreckage.
Friends, my ass. And brothers? I kept them around because I thought they were loyal and then I find them disappearing when things get a little tough? Fucking hell.
It didn’t help that I had one of my old superiors blowing up my phone, saying that I needed to report to the police station. The outcome doesn’t look good but I have plans in place, safeguards. This doesn’t end until I say it does because it’s a game I started and it’s one I’ll end.
People shuffle past on the sidewalk, their heads turning, eyes narrowing as they whisper my name. I thought I had it locked down. Threatening Noah, pressing that gun to his ear, dousing him in whiskey—it was supposed to keep him in line, keep this whole mess contained.
He’s always been softhearted and I figured he’d break, crawl back into his hole and shut his mouth, along with the men he’s dragged into bed. But it backfires, because a new, more thorough public report hit this morning, splashed across every screen, every paper, and it’s a fucking guillotine.
It’s got shit in there I never breathed to a soul—dates, names, deals I buried deep—and the connections are laid out plain as day, neon signs pointing straight to me.
It’s worse than anything my superiors ever dug up, a hundred times more damning, and now the whole world knows just how deep I’m in this shit, how long I’ve been swimming in it.
I slam the wheel again, the sting in my palm doing nothing to dull the fury boiling under my skin.
“How the fuck did this happen?” I snarl before picturing Noah’s face, that smug little shit probably thinking he’s safe with his precious guard dogs.
But it’s only the beginning and each and every one of them will pay for their betrayal.
Noah will suffer because he took everything from me, the life I was supposed to live, the parents I was supposed to have…
Blowing out a deep breath, I pull down the visor and stare into the mirror—red-rimmed eyes, jaw clenched, hair a mess—and I hate it, hate how I look like I’m losing it, like I’m the one who’s weak.
I’m not supposed to be here, not like this, not with my name dragged through the mud while Noah gets to play the victim.
I have no idea how they even got all that goddamn information. Heath, maybe, that spineless prick, squealing when the heat got too close, but even he didn’t know everything. I lean back, my head thudding against the seat, and drag a hand down my face.
“I’ve got this,” I tell myself before slipping out of the car.
Because I’m not going down alone. Heath’s in the crossfire for sure but Mr. Perfect Noah Strong, with his sad eyes and his medical degree, he’s not getting out of this clean.
There’s a lovely picture I’ve taken, hoping that it’ll ruin the last shred of his dignity as I take him with me.
That report might’ve fucked me, but I’ll twist it, turn it back on him, make sure he chokes on it too.
I reach the door, my hand on the handle, and pause, my breath fogging in the chill.
“You’re not winning this, Noah,” I mutter, my voice a low growl, and I push inside, ready to burn it all down with me.
I make it a few feet before my gaze snags on Heath returning to his car, his entire posture bent out of shape as if whatever he said in the station has put him on edge.
Which means he probably squealed like a fucking rat.
We were in this together, every step of the way—hell, I even gave him my brother… cousin.
I stalk over, Heath straightening when he sees me, his face tightening, but not fast enough to hide the flicker of guilt.
“You were supposed to fix this shit,” I snap, stopping inches from him.
I jab a finger at his chest, barely resisting the urge to shove him into that fancy car of his.
“This was your job, Heath. Keep it quiet, keep it contained. What the fuck happened?”
He crosses his arms, the muscles in his jaw pulling tight.
“We underestimated what your friends would do,” he pushes out.
“Logan, Sebastian, Declan—they moved faster than we thought. Noah too. And now it’s out of control.
That report this morning? It’s got everything, Kurt. Shit we didn’t even know they’d find.”
I laugh, a harsh, barking sound that scrapes my throat.
“Out of control? No kidding. Everyone’s whispering my name like I’m some goddamn leper and you’re standing here with your luxury ride like it’s not your mess too.
” My hands shake, itching to grab him, but he holds up a hand, his eyes narrowing.
“There’s still a story we can weave,” he says, lowering his voice, glancing at the station. “Pin it on one of the higher-ups. Sergeant Michaels was in on it, feeding us intel, covering tracks. We lean hard on that, make him the fall guy. It’s not perfect, but it buys us time.”
Michaels. That bastard’s been riding my coattails for years, greasing the wheels when I needed it.
If I’m going down, he’s a decent shield.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But you better make it stick, Heath. I’m not sinking alone.
” I don’t tell Heath that I’m throwing Noah under the bus because that’s always been the plan.
That part has never changed. Whatever works faster to get me out of the limelight, though, is what I’m using right now.
I leave Heath with a small shove, knowing anything else could get into more shit than I already am.
I barely make it through the door before my old sergeant is nodding to the room just to the right.
There’s a few other people in there I don’t recognize, detectives, someone else in uniform, clearly a few ranks higher than I am and then there’s one lone seat across the table for me.
“Kurt,” Michaels starts, his voice flat, “you know why you were called in here. We need to figure out the truth of these claims because there’s a lot of bullshit going around right now.
Heath was just in here spinning a tale as wild as these reports and now it’s your turn to set the record straight. ”
The detective beside him just shakes his head.
“As much as I’d like to give Mr. Strong the benefit of the doubt, his name has come out too many times in this investigation.
Circumventing the issue isn’t going to help us.
” His gaze falls on me. “I want to know who you were working with and how deep this operation went. These are some serious allegations and we all want to put this shit to rest.”
I should probably call a lawyer but that’ll just drag this shit out until we’re all tired and at each other’s throats.
I always knew the game would have to end at some point and I know I can’t wiggle out clean—Michaels might’ve helped, but he’s not dumb enough to take the full hit, and the evidence is stacked too high.
And now that he’s in the room, I can’t exactly use him.
So, I use the one card I have left, hoping it’ll move some of the attention from me. “Noah,” I say, dropping the name like a stone. “Noah Strong. He’s been in it from the start.”
The room goes still and Michaels blinks, his pen freezing mid-scratch, the other two exchanging a look, their brows furrowing. “Your brother?” Michaels says, disbelief lacing his tone, and I shrug, keeping my face blank.
“Cousin, technically. But yeah. He’s not the saint you think.
He knew about the deployments, the tweaks, all of it.
Helped me pull strings when it suited him.
Having him stateside helped.” My voice stays steady, the lie sliding out easy.
They murmur among themselves, scribbling notes, and I sit back, the knot in my chest loosening just a fraction.
They’re buying it, or at least chewing on it, and that’s all I need for now.
Michaels clears his throat, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t leave town, Kurt. We’ll have more questions for you. This isn’t over.” He stands, the others following, and I rise too.
“I’m not arrested yet?” I ask, tilting my head, testing him.
He steps closer, waiting until we’re the only two in here, his voice dropping.
“You better thank your lucky stars that I’m running this bullshit or you would be in a jail cell right now with a bond higher than whatever is in your bank account.
Don’t get cocky. For the record, throwing your own family under the bus is a shit move.
Stay put unless you want whatever heat is going to come from this investigation.
” He walks me out to my truck, delivering me right to the driver’s side.
“I mean it, Strong. Don’t make me regret this. ”
“Oh, you should have thought of that before you got into bed with me,” I say, my tone light, edged with venom, and I climb in, slamming the door shut.
I peel out of the lot before he has a chance to say anything else, knowing that to keep up this ruse, to make sure that some of the heat lands on Noah, I have to play my next card.
I scroll through a myriad of numbers before finding the last one in my contacts, a lifeline I’ve tapped too many times—Ricky, a shady bastard I’ve done more deals with than I can count.
My thumb hovers, then presses, and the dial tone ringing through the car.
He picks up, his voice gravelly, impatient. “Yeah?”
“Meet me at the usual spot. Got something for you.”
He grunts, the line going dead. I speed off down the road, heading for the pub I used to hang with my squad, with my buddies and now I’m stuck here, dirty dealing information to stay unscathed from an operation that was going just fine before Noah ruined that too.
Picking a booth toward the back, I wait barely five minutes before Ricky’s sliding in on the other side.
“This better be good? I was getting my dick sucked.”
My face scrunches up in disgust at the information I didn’t need and I can’t even tell if Ricky’s telling the truth or just trying to be funny.
Not that it matters. I reach into my pocket and pull out a picture, face down, before sliding it across the table.
Ricky raises an eyebrow, his fingers hovering over it, but he doesn’t flip it yet.
“Why’s this so important? You never give me pictures unless you’re hellbent on destroying someone. ”
I lean forward, my hands balling into fists on the table, my voice dropping to a growl.
“He ruined my whole fucking life. This one man made it impossible for me to flourish, to get anywhere. Everything I had, everything I built—he torched it.” My chest tightens, the words tasting like bile, because it’s true, or close enough to it, and I hate him for it.
Ricky tilts his head, his lips curving up in a smirk.
“So, you threw everything away because this guy one-upped you on the intelligence scale? Yes, I hear things and I know about the investigation. Give me something more, Kurt. I’m all about revenge, vendettas, the whole damn game, but I want to know what this bitch did to you. ”
I sigh and lean back, my eyes burning into the table. “This bitch got my parents arrested for treason,” I say, the confession spilling out, something I’ve only told one or two other souls. “Fucked me over before I even had a chance.”
Ricky’s hand freezes, then snatches the picture, flipping it over fast. It’s Noah, sprawled on that hotel bed, whiskey soaking his shirt, his face slack, vulnerable—perfectly staged, just how I snapped it before I left him there.
Ricky’s eyes widen, then narrow, and he lets out a low whistle. “Hold up, isn’t this your brother?”
I snort. “That little shit’s my cousin, not my brother. And he’s the one who called the goddamn police on my parents, turned my whole world to ash.” My voice shakes, rage simmering under every word, because it’s the story I’ve told myself a thousand times, the one that keeps the fire alive.
Ricky stares at the photo, his thumb brushing the edge, and I lean in, my pulse hammering.
“I want this posted somewhere—socials, forums, whatever. If the medical board gets a hold of it, he’ll lose his license, his career, any respect he’s scraped together.
I want him gutted, Ricky. You’ve got the channels. Make it happen.”
He looks up, his smirk fading into something colder, calculating. “You’re serious about this. You want him finished over some old family shit?”
“Dead fucking serious. He’s not walking away clean while I’m drowning in this. He doesn’t get to play the hero, not after what he did. My parents were everything, and he snitched, set it all off. Now he’s got my squad, my life, and I’m left with nothing. Post it. Burn him down.”
Ricky taps the picture against the table, his eyes locked on mine. “Alright,” he muses. “I know a guy who can splash this across a few socials, make it look legit. Medical board’s got eyes everywhere—they’ll bite. But this is messy, Kurt. You sure you want it this loud?”
“Loud’s the point,” I snap, my hand slamming the table. “I want everyone to see him for what he is—a fraud, a wreck. He doesn’t get to hide behind his little boyfriends anymore.” Maybe I don’t need to go this hard but then again, I don’t do anything half-assed.
Ricky nods, pocketing the photo, and leans back, lighting a cigarette despite the no-smoking sign peeling off the wall.
“Give me a day. It’ll spread like wildfire.
But you owe me after this one.” Smoke curls from his lips, and I don’t care about the cost—not now, not when I’m this close to sinking Noah with me.
“Just get it done.” I head back out to my car, deciding where to go next. Home isn’t an option and I’m not sure why Michaels thought I was going to behave. I’m not going to act like some cornered rat. First thing’s first.
Figure out what the fuck Heath told the police and then hope he didn’t give them exactly what they wanted to hear.