I wasn’t about to share my deepest, darkest secret in front of a wall full of monitors and technology. Surely, there were hackers and security experts in the world better than Trey, and maybe I was being paranoid, but that seemed a bit too much like tempting fate.
Trey followed, still not saying a word. Sliding the envelope onto the island, I then approached the little bar built into the wall at the far end of his kitchen. I poured myself three fingers of bourbon. After tossing it back, I refilled my glass and poured one for him.
I pulled out a stool at his ugly poured concrete counter and sat, head drooping, eyes focused on some middle distance as I tried to figure out where the fuck to start.
“Not gonna lie, brother,” Trey said, breaking his silence at last. “You’re starting to freak me out.”
Snorting, I risked looking at him. His expression was open and earnest, and Iknewwhatever I told him wouldn’t change how he looked at me. Us Lawless brothers—we’d all done and seen some shit. We all had demons and skeletons. I didn’t have to ask Trey to swear a blood oath that he’d keep this shitto himself. The shared blood running through our veins was enough.
“When I was twenty, I killed someone.”
fifteen
. . .
LANE
When it cameto exacting revenge on Ryan Boyd, I was content to play the long game.
Ryan had taken everything from me in the form of the one person who mattered more than all the rest. He had used her, violated her, forced demons into her life and mind that shouldn’t be there.
He had made her so afraid of her own goddamn shadow she pushed me away to spare us both. Sutton didn’t realize she wasn’t sparing me anything, that my heart remained with her.
I let her because I was unsure how to reach her beyond the thick concrete and barbed wire-topped walls she’d built between us. I loved her too much to force her into something she didn’t want—and these days, the thing she didn’t want wasme.
But I would show her. As soon as I neutralized the threat that was Ryan Boyd.
With Sutton forcibly removing herself from my life, I suddenly had a lot of fucking time on my hands, and I spent several weeks in the aftermath of Sutton’s rape simply watching this guy, following him around at a distance, making sure to never tip him off that I was there.
I was, after all, getting my criminal justice degree so I could join the Dusk Valley Sheriff’s Department when I graduated. When you thought about it, this level of surveillance I was conducting could be considered an internship. A sort of fucked up on the job training.
In typical rich kid fashion, walking around with that air of superiority, it was damn near impossible to get near him. He was constantly surrounded by his equally disgusting rich kid friends.
Quickly, I learned Ryan was fond of his routine, which meant on this particular Tuesday morning, he’d be heading to the on-campus coffee shop for his morning espresso before going to his first class.
Did I sound like a creep? Absolutely. But ever since I walked into that hospital room and saw Sutton laying on the bed, curled in on herself, flinching anytime anyone came near, I hadn’t exactly been operating at full sanity.
Feigning nonchalance, I walked into the coffee shop, attention trained on Ryan in my periphery. Hands in my pockets and headphones in my ears, I hunched my shoulders and joined the queue to the counter. I pretended to be in my own little world, listening to my music while I waited for my turn.
Once Ryan received his coffee, he headed toward me. At the last second, right before he brushed past, I sidestepped into his path, causing a collision that ended with him wearing most of his coffee.
“Fuck!” he shouted, face turning red as he plucked his shirt, dampened with scalding hot liquid, away from his body. He turned rage-filled eyes on me, only for them to widen slightly in fear as he looked up—and up—at me.
At six five, I was goddamn intimidating.
“Shit, man,” I said, pulling on the cord to free one of my earbuds from my ear. “I am so sorry.”
Getting out of line, I headed for the bar that held straws, cream and sugar, stir sticks, and napkins, grabbed a stack, and handed them over to him. He blotted at his shirt, but unfortunately, the cream fabric of his henley was ruined.
Oops.
“I really am sorry,” I said again, putting on the show of my life.
“No biggie,” he assured me, then shot me a conspiratorial grin. “Gives me an excuse to skip class so I can go home and change.”
I laughed, and I thought it sounded pretty convincing. “That’s always a good thing. But hey, at least let me buy you a new one.”
“Shirt?”
