Undertow

8. Traitor

8

TRAITOR

I’m barely through the gate to the Palmetto resort when Merrick and Scarlett’s fiancé, Patrick , are by my side to escort me to the penthouse. It’s not surprising, given the news I delivered last night, but that doesn’t stop the nerves from climbing in sync with the elevator.

Merrick has said almost nothing to me since picking me up, clearly avoiding eye contact.

Did he pass along my information and plan to McArthur? They know I’ve got everything under control, right?

A cold wave sweeps through me as we wait. I don’t like not being in control, and lately it seems like I’ve been anchored in chaos.

At the top floor, I step out, expecting a private meeting with McArthur. Instead, he’s joined by Scarlett… and two other soldiers.

There’s only one reason for this much muscle.

I keep my attention on the boss as I force myself forward.

“Shaw. Good to see you.” His controlled tone allows for no clues, and I swallow my unease.

“Hello, sir. I assume Merrick told you about the latest developments and why I’ve returned to Palmetto Acres?”

“The Hartfords think you’re working for them.” There’s a thick film of loathing around the word “them.”

Julia’s explanation of the history between these warring families clarified a lot about the motivation behind their rivalry and subsequent objectives. Each one wants me to find a way to eliminate the other for control of something. On the surface it’s territorial, but my world doesn’t operate on the surface. It’s the story that lurks in the shadows I need to uncover. What are they really fighting to control? It can’t be tourist dollars.

Illegal gambling isn’t even on the short list of criminal activities fueling their power. I already know the McArthur empire runs drugs and guns. And I’ve seen enough to add prostitution, murder, and extortion to the mix. Hell, in many ways I’ve personally been used for all three.

As for the Hartfords, I’m still not certain about their game, but I have a good idea. After I confirmed three more businesses were cash-only this morning, it’s a pretty safe bet they’re involved in some kind of laundering operation. On a secluded island in the Gulf of Mexico, it’s almost a guarantee they’re tied to a cartel—or multiple.

Whoever controls this island, probably controls a lot more beyond its liquid borders.

What all of that means for my plan remains to be seen, but the stakes are even higher than I thought. Astronomically high. Destiny-changing high.

This could be it. This could be the chance you’ve been waiting for.

“We have the perfect opportunity to manipulate them,” I say beneath McArthur’s dark look.

Merrick and Patrick watch with rapt attention from my left and right. I don’t have a visual of the two soldiers behind me, but I suspect that’s by design. It’s becoming apparent I’m not here for a pat on the back.

“Is that why you told them about our gambling operation?” McArthur asks.

I stare at him in confusion. That’s what this is about?

“They already knew about that, sir. I had to give them something to gain their trust.”

Scarlett’s gaze scalds me from across the room, and I force down a rush of anxiety. I tried ignoring it at first, but it’s impossible when so much venom is being spewed in my direction. She’s pissed about the rejection. I get that, but…

Oh fuck.

My blood runs cold.

“Sources tell me you were seen being intimate with Julia Hartford on a beach,” he says, not moving. It’s eerie how he can project so much hostility from the things he doesn’t do.

“Yes.” I try to keep the alarm from my voice.

“An hour into your mission and you managed to get your tongue down her throat?”

By the smug expression on Scarlett’s face, I know who’s behind this sudden wave of doubt.

“That was my job, wasn’t it? I’m good at what I do.”

“So I’ve been told,” he says derisively, casting a look at his daughter. “Maybe too good at times.”

I bristle from the sting.

They turned me into this. What do they expect? What did she tell them?

“Like I reported, Julia was trying to use me too. I didn’t actually get under her skin that fast.”

It’s an odd feeling using a failure as a defense.

“Or maybe you actually are working for them. Maybe you have a real relationship with Julia Hartford.”

My eyes widen in shock. A mistake for sure, but I can’t help it. “ How? I was in Philadelphia for the last eight months working that city-revitalization job. You’re the one who dragged me down here and threw me at her!”

I hear the fear in my voice so I know he does. His gaze hardens at my outburst. There’s no way he liked my tone or accusations—i.e. the truth .

Satan can’t tolerate Truth.

“Strip him,” he says coldly.

Even Merrick stiffens to my right. “Sir, I’m sure?—”

“You want to be next?” McArthur warns.

Merrick’s gaze brushes mine for just a second before I’m being slammed against the wall from behind. I wince as my cheek grinds against the textured surface, while my arm is twisted behind my back. Patrick seems to be taking great pleasure in burying his other forearm in my neck.

“I can do it myself!” I snap, instinctively struggling against his grip.

A sharp knee to my side knocks the air from my lungs. A second blow has my painful cough drowning out the sound of tearing fabric. Buttons ping off the wall and floor. My skin feels cold from more than exposure to excessive air conditioning as they tear my shirt from my back.

“I’m not wired,” I manage through labored breaths.

I’m insulted they think I’d be so stupid.

Fingers dig into my arm and drag me around to shove my back against the wall for inspection. McArthur scans my bare chest, and I clench my teeth against the fury aimed at the woman on the couch. Her hurt feelings could get me killed.

Rage builds in my chest when McArthur waves at my uniform pants.

“Are you fucking kidding me? All these years working for you and you think I’d be stupid enough to come in here with something on me?”

The gun is at my head before the last words are out. Patrick’s delighted glint as he holds it in place makes me suspect he’s in on it too.

Of course he is. Scarlett wants me repentant. Her partner wants me dead.

I unbutton my pants and shove them down with an icy look. Let them play their games. They won’t get to enjoy my fear.

“You want to see my dick too?” I quip, straightening. “Most people have to pay for that.”

I hold out my arms in mock submission, loving the wrath that flashes across McArthur’s face at my taunt. Patrick presses the gun further into my temple, but they’re not going to kill me. They can’t . They fucking need me and they know it. This is alpha posturing and nothing more. An unnecessary reminder for the one who’s never known anything but this.

“Hands on the wall,” McArthur growls.

I grit my teeth and obey, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a fight. I feel the expectant stares, the pulse of violence in the room. They want to find something. Salivating for a reason to hurt me. They’re pissed that they haven’t.

Merrick pats me down in a symbolic gesture because obviously I’m clean. This is about humiliation now, and I feel Scarlett’s burning gaze. In her version of this scene, she’s probably the one with her hands on me. Patrick too? I brace harder against the wall to suppress my fury.

“He’s clean,” Merrick confirms in an irritated tone. At least one other person isn’t enjoying this.

I shake my head in frustration and push away from the wall.

“Check the pockets,” McArthur says, motioning toward my discarded clothing.

Merrick’s jaw tightens as he swipes my pants off the floor. Funny how the man who brutally baptized me into this nightmare three years ago has become one of my only advocates. Then again, people like him respect those who get shit done, and no one does this shit better than I do.

He fishes through the front pockets, and I clench my fists with impatience. We’re wasting time. We could be strategizing, discussing the complicated, but potentially fortuitous, development in our plan. Instead, we’re what, living out some sadistic fantasy those three demons cooked up for me?

New Orleans…

I can’t think about that right now.

Merrick freezes when he hits the back pocket, his gaze snapping to mine.

Confused, I don’t react as he pulls out my wallet, phone, and…

I go numb at the object I don’t recognize.

Hang on. No. Just…

I shoot a look at Scarlett, who grins with a shrug. What the fuck did she do?

Patrick looks triumphant.

“I don’t know what that is, but someone—probably Patrick—planted it on the way up here,” I say quickly, my pulse pounding.

McArthur’s expression is arctic as he moves forward. Merrick won’t even look at me.

“I swear, sir! I didn’t?—”

Hard metal collides with the side of my head, sending me to the ground.

“Shut up,” Patrick barks.

Shit.

The room is blurry shadows as I buckle from the blow. Nausea swirls through my stomach at the pain radiating from my skull. I blink through the agony and try to push myself up, but a foot stomps on my back, anchoring me to the floor. I may never even see the item that is probably going to kill me.

“What is this?” McArthur snarls at me as he grabs the object from Merrick.

Since I don’t know, I don’t even know how to lie. “I?—”

The shoe that lands in my ribs is shinier and more expensive than usual, but the impact is the same. I grit my teeth through the agony. I will not show pain.

I clutch my throbbing side and force my gaze up. My vision is still distorted through my left eye, but I’m able to make out a small round device in McArthur’s outstretched hand.

“Because it looks like a bug.” His matter-of-fact tone chills me more than his anger.

“I don’t know what that is. I swear, it’s not—” Another hard strike to the face.

“ Fuck,” I mumble through the fresh burst of pain. I push myself to my elbows, trying to clear my head. Why to the face all the time? When are these idiots going to learn you can’t keep secrets on the face? These people are amateurs.

I reach up and touch the blooming pucker of blood on my lip. That one hurt.

I fire a glare at them.

“Wait,” Merrick says, stiffening. “That’s one of ours.”

“What?” McArthur asks.

Merrick motions for the device, and McArthur hands it over. Merrick studies it, then me. I must be a fun memory for him right now, nearly naked and bleeding on the floor. It’s been a while since we’ve played this game.

His expression darkens when it lands abruptly on Patrick. “This device is one of ours, sir. It couldn’t be from the Hartfords. Shaw is telling the truth.”

“You can’t be serious.” There’s disappointment in Patrick’s voice, like he can’t believe I don’t have a bullet in my head right now. He releases a dry laugh, but we all hear the fear in it. He backs up when he sees they are, in fact, very serious.

“I… So what if it’s the same? You don’t think they could be using similar technology?”

I will myself to my feet and lean against the wall to catch my breath.

“Not unless they have an engineer named Dominic Santino working for them,” Merrick says. “This is a custom piece. Shaw didn’t get this from the Hartfords. He’s either using it against them or someone planted it on him, like he said.”

We all know I’m not using it for the job. I never use that shit. For. This. Reason. You can’t bluff your way out of physical evidence.

Patrick opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out as McArthur turns his quiet rage on him.

“Why would I plant something on him?” Patrick rushes out, panic corrupting his tone.

“Because your woman wants to fuck him,” Merrick says dryly. “Probably already has.”

“That’s ridiculous! I don’t even…” He stops blubbering at Merrick’s warning look.

In the silence, McArthur scans me slowly, meticulously. I feel completely naked as he studies every tattoo, every muscle, every detail of my body. My fist tightens behind me, but none of the emotion reaches my face. Once I’ve been entirely exposed by his stare, he shifts his attention to his daughter.

Time stops as he considers. Blood pounds in my head, still reeling from the smack of the gun. The rest of my body is on fire as well, but pain means nothing right now. Only one thing matters, and all we can do is wait for it.

I let my gaze wander to Scarlett, and to my surprise, her return look isn’t nervous at all. If anything she’s even more smug than she was before.

Wait…

I snap my focus to Patrick just in time for the crack of a gunshot. A spray of blood burns my skin as my adversary sinks to the floor in front of me.

Interesting that his eyes in death are as cold as they were in life.

“Clean this up,” McArthur says to me. “And then get back to work.”