“Not all of them, though.”
“No. Jackpot claims he was only involved in their legitimate nightclub businesses, but he heard a lot. He knew the key players in the supply chain, where they operated from, and their distribution channels. He’s been acting as a spy in their network, feeding us intel so we can raid the warehouses and brothels whenever we get a chance. We bring them here, and Patch does what he can to help them. Sometimes they stay, sometimes they leave of their own accord.”
So many questions are swirling through my head, but I settle on the obvious one. “Lyla?”
“She was one of our first.”
“Holy shit.” I’m impressed, but I’m also concerned. I’ve seen trafficking victims firsthand, and it’s always shaken my faith in humanity. “It’s amazing what you’re doing. Obviously. But it’s also a really good way to make enemies. I know you were a soldier, Ark, but the gangs who run those rings are brutal.”
Something dangerous flickers through his eyes. “It’s worth it.”
“I agree.” I have the names and faces of victims permanently etched on my brain, after all. “If there’s any way I can help…”
A rare smile softens his face. “Thanks, Abbie. We can always use help, but in your case, it could make a lot of difference.” As he leans over his desk to open a drawer, the edge of his cut knocks a picture frame over and when I pick it up, my breathcatches. Ark is wearing desert camos and full military gear, his arms slung around two other men. My brother Samson is on the left, his head tilted as he squints into the sun, while the other guy is either Bluff or his identical twin. The same midnight black eyes, the long dark hair, but no scar on his face. No slightly feral curl to his lips…
“That was Syria,” Ark tells me quietly.
I’m gripping the frame so tightly, I can see white spots on my fingernails, and I have to force myself to place it back on his desk. “Samson and… Who’s the other guy?”
“Ridge Connors. Bluff was his call sign, because he had the best poker face in the unit.”
I swallow down that piece of knowledge like it’s honey-coated glass. “Samson knew him?”
“They were friendly. This wasn’t long before…”
“Samson died.”
“Mmm. Which is why I wanted to give you this.” He holds something out in front of me, and I blink furiously, trying to focus on the gleam of metal. “He always said he wanted me to pass them onto you if you came back to the club.”
I stare numbly at the military dog tags swinging on a long silver chain. “But not before?”
“He wanted you to have choices. The last mission he was sent on was a clusterfuck, and it changed a few things for him.” He sighs, sorrow etched on his face. “He worked out that loyalty didn’t always go both ways. He didn’t want you pulled back into the club because of memories of him.”
I nod numbly, too choked up to speak. The fact that my brother was thinking about me softens an ugly edge in my heart. There’s still a lot of hurt there, mingled with other wounds from my family, but I duck my head, pulling my hair aside so Ark can slide the chain around my neck. He hesitates for only a second, his fingers warm and rough as they brush my nape. When he’sdone, I grip the tags in my hand, my head bowed until I know my eyes aren’t going to betray me.
“Thanks, Ark,” I murmur, getting to my feet. “Um, I’d like to hear more about them.” I nod at the picture on his desk. “I mean Samson, obviously, and what it was like over there. If you can find the time…”
“Whenever you want,” he says quickly, also rising to his feet. “You should know how much you meant to him. To both of us.”
I nod, feeling a sliver of guilt settle in my chest. I don’t know what to do with it, or if Ark would even care that my thoughts have strayed to the third man in that picture on his desk. I’m here for Wings, and I’m prepared to mend bridges with Ark, but I also want to make sense of the connection I feel with the club’s elusive VP.
How did Janice put it?Scent matches usually find their way back to each other. The bond is too strong to stay away.
“Make yourself at home, Abbie,” Ark says when I reach the door. “And if there’s anything you need, let me know and I’ll make it happen.”
Chapter Eleven: ABBIE
I’m tucking my brother’s dog tags under my shirt when I run into Tricks in the hallway outside Ark’s office. She has two cups of coffee in her hands and immediately presses one into mine. “Wings said you like it black, which is disgusting, but also completely fine, because I don’t judge.”
I grin at her as I take a sip. “Your brother is all the sweetness I need in my life.”
“Blech.” She wrinkles her button nose. “But also, totally adorable.”
I shrug, and she drains her cup, leading me into the kitchen to pop it in the dishwasher. I take a little more notice of my surroundings this time, and realize it has a full commercial setup with a long flat-top grill, two deep fryers, a wall of ovens, and a couple of six-burner ranges. “This is Glory’s domain, of course,” she says, waving to the alpha who is elbow-deep in dough and beaming in our direction. “She has a permanent staff of three, but we all pitch in when needed.”
“It’s a lot nicer than the old kitchen,” I note as she grabs two muffins off a cooling rack and hands me one. It’s apple andcinnamon, and I groan as I take a bite. “I used to sneak in there with Wings for leftovers, and one time the latch on the walk-in cooler got stuck and we were popsicles by the time Glory found us.”
“I remember,” she laughs, leading me back into the hallway. “You both had blue lips for a week. I thought it looked so cool, I kept sucking ice cubes until Mom stopped me.”
