Hooked (Never After Series)

“Peter Michaels wants to meet.”

My heart clenches the second his name passes Ru’s lips. “I’m aware of this already, Roofus. You’ve talked of nothing else for the past week.”

Ru’s brows draw in. “Don’t be a smart-ass. It’s… what do you say? Unbecoming.”

My lips tilt up at his attempt at an English accent, although to be fair, even mine isn’t as crisp as it once was. The years have muddled it down until it’s an odd mix, not quite British yet far from American.

“Do you have a point?” I ask.

“My point is that I need you there with me.”

I breathe out a sigh, unbuttoning my suit jacket as I sit down opposite his desk. “And why is it I couldn’t go in the first place, again?”

His eyes narrow. “Because you intimidate people.”

My brows shoot to my hairline and I point to myself. “Me?”

He chuckles. “Don’t play dumb, kid. We both know you have this…” His arm waves between us. “Thing about you. Other powerful men don’t like to be around that.”

I bite back my smirk. “You’re a powerful man, yet here we are.”

Ru grins, spinning a cigar between his lips. “I know your loyalty. You work for me.” He shrugs. “I’m not worried about my place in this world, and I’m not worried about your role in it.”

While I appreciate the sentiment behind his words, they cause a cramp to spear the center of my stomach, regardless. Ru may think he knows my purpose in this life, but even he doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t know that my father moved from America when he was just shy of twenty, becoming the premiere businessman in all of England. That I was born into the life of luxury, and until his death, there wasn’t anyone on earth I looked up to more. Ru doesn’t know that every second since has been spent focused on vengeance against the man responsible.

A phantom twinge splits my side, and my knuckles tighten against the urge to brush the jagged scar that mars my torso.

Some men are born into this world with purpose; other men are mutilated into it.

An unwelcome emotion threatens to slither its way into the moment, an odd ache attempting to settle heavy in my chest. I clench my jaw as I force it back down. The time for sorrow has long since passed. Now it’s simply a thirst for revenge that keeps me going.

Leaning forward in my chair, the fire of my life’s goal licks me with its tempting warmth. “So… when are we meeting?”

Ru smiles. “Next week.”

“Perfect, I have plans the next few nights, it would be a shame for them to fall through.”

“Oh?”

I nod, not willing to elaborate—not wanting to give up my prize before I’ve caught her in my web. I want Wendy to come willingly. To be the bright accent on my arm while I show her off to the world; watch the look on her father’s face as she brings me home for dinner.

A grin sneaks along my lips. “A pet project, if you will.”

He chuckles, running his hand down the front of his face. “Fuck it, kid. If I had your looks, I’d be pussy deep every single day. I’m surprised you show the restraint you do in the first place.”

The muscle in my jaw tics, and I swallow back the disgust at the vision his words create. As if I’d ever give up control for sexual pleasure. Having the urge is one thing, losing yourself to temptation is quite another. And while yes, I may use Moira to keep my darker urges at bay, I never need it. Years of being at the hands of someone who frequently lost their wits have taught me that control is paramount. And while fucking and coming is stress relief, that’s all it will ever be. It’s never for actual enjoyment.

“You’ll be around tonight, though?” Ru asks, his eyes skimming the top of his desk, a vulnerability seeping into the words; so slight you can barely hear it.

Nodding, I stand and make my way to the front of his office. “Of course, Roofus.”

I reach into my jacket pocket and grab the box I’ve brought with me today. Ru isn’t much for presents, but he loves his lighters. Has an entire case filled with his collection. This one is special. A custom-made S.T Dupont, encrusted with red rubies and an inscription on the front.

Straight on ‘til morning.

It’s the first piece of advice he gave me, and one that’s stuck ever since. My thumb swipes across the words, my mind flashing back to that night.

Breathing heavily from exertion, I peer around the building, the brick crumbling under my fingers—evidence of how malnourished the area is as a whole. We aren’t in a good part of town, and my mind races, wondering who the man I followed here is. What he must do for a living to be so comfortable in an area that even my uncle has told me to steer clear of.

“Stay away from the town square with the clock tower.”

The man’s red hair bobs when he moves from the front stoop of the building, the faded green fabric of the awning swaying overhead. He says something and the guys he’s with nod before they walk inside, leaving him alone. The stranger twists, the movement sudden, causing my heart to skip. I suck in a breath, whipping around the corner, the brick rough against my back, even through the fabric of my shirt.

Taking a few deep breaths, I peer around the edge again, but this time, he’s standing right in front of me, hands in his pockets, gray eyes sparking with amusement.

“Are you following me, kid?”

His accent is thick, his r’s sounding like elongated a’s, and my eyes widen as I look up at him and nod. I’ve never been much of a liar.

Maybe I should be afraid, but I’m not. The biggest monster of them all is one who sits at the same table for dinner. Fear has long since marinated in the bottom of my gut like a bubbling cauldron, waiting for me to master the brew so I can use it as poison. So, while maybe it’s nonsensical, this man doesn’t scare me. He inspires hope.

An enemy of my enemy is a friend.

“Well, you’ve got my attention,” he continues. His eyes scan me, lips curling up in the corners. “You Croc’s kid?”

My brows scrunch at the name. “I don’t know who that is,” I reply.

“Croc?” His hand rubs down his face, his head tilting to the sky. “Ah, shit. You are… I saw you watching us from the hallway earlier tonight. What the hell are you doing all the way out here?”

My stomach tightens, shame coursing through my insides at the realization that I wasn’t as stealthy as I had hoped. He knew I was there all along. Nausea teases my throat when I think of my uncle also being aware. I run a hand through my hair. “It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid.”

I turn to walk away, but a rough grip on my shoulder jostles my frame until I spin back around. “Don’t walk away when someone asks you a question, kid. You’ve already come this far. Keep going, yeah?”

My forehead scrunches as I take in his words. “Going until when?”

He points to the clock tower that sits in the middle of the town square, the moon and stars shimmering in the background. “Straight on ‘til morning.”

My head tilts. “What’s that mean?”

His arm wraps around my shoulders, bringing me in close. “That means you don’t quit until you get what you want. Even if it takes all damn night. Understand?”

I smile at the memory, tossing the present on the desk. “Roofus,” I tsk. “Come now, you really think I wouldn’t remember?”

Ru grunts, waving me off, but I see the weight slipping from his shoulders and the lift of his lips.

As if I’d ever forget the birthday of the man who saved me.

Jason is a two-bit drug dealer that goes by the nickname Nibs. He’s the type that doesn’t wash his undershirts and thinks a gold chain makes him tough, but he’s always done a decent job at pushing our pixie. Lately, however, he’s acquired loose lips, trying to spark an uprising with the other nobody lowlifes who run along my streets, and think that means it’s theirs.

Jason shifts in the booth across from me while I spark up a cigar. The low lighting of the bar casts a shadow across his face, highlighting the beads of sweat forming along his hairline. I’m not entirely sure he knows who I am—low-level pushers don’t normally get the privilege of meeting me.

“Jason, do you know why you’re here?” I ask.

“Because I work for you?”

I twirl the cigar between my lips before placing it down on the ashtray, the table sturdy underneath my elbows. “That’s correct, Jason. You work for me.”

His face tightens.

“Have you forgotten?” My head tilts.

“No,” he mumbles.

I lean forward. “No, sir.”

He glances to the twins on either side of him, his Adam’s apple bobbing with his harsh swallow.

“Don’t look at them,” I say. “The time for you to deal with the twins has long since passed. In fact.” My fingers scratch my chin. “It was you who decided to turn them away in the first place. So now you get to deal with me. Understand?”

He clears his throat. “Uh… ye-yeah, yes sir.”

“Attaboy.” I smirk, relaxing back into the booth. “I’ve just realized you don’t have a drink. You must be thirsty. Would you like one?”

I nod to Moira, who saunters over, hands on her hips. Jason’s eyes bounce between me, the twins, Moira, and then back. He opens his mouth to speak, but movement from the front of the bar distracts me from whatever he says.

Like a beacon of light splitting apart the darkened clouds, Wendy Michaels waltzes into the room—straight into the viper’s den, like she’s waiting to get bit.

Like she belongs.

Sparks tingle the base of my stomach, my gaze soaking her up like water in the sun. She reaches the bar, followed closely by her friends. Immediately, she’s greeted by our bartender Curly, saying something that makes her head toss back in laughter, her hair glinting off the lights as it swishes down her naked back. My shoulders tighten at the restraint it takes to keep from walking over and pulling her away from his attentions.

Tearing my eyes away, I focus again on Jason. I was planning to draw this out, but suddenly I’m desperate to wrap things up. My insides twist with anticipation and I have to force it down, trying to keep my mind on the task at hand.

“Jason, you seem like a man of… many talents.”

His chest puffs out, preening like a peacock.

“I’ve brought you here today because there seems to be a traitor in our midst. And I need your help.” My lips twitch as he nods in agreement, relief visibly coasting across his face. Such a simple, stupid creature. “It’s come to my attention that somebody has been working against us from the inside.”

Jason leans in like he’s expecting me to continue, but I don’t. I sit back in the booth, picking up my cigar, ignoring the way the smoke suffocates as it swirls around my face.

And I wait.

The seconds stretch into agonizing moments, the only sound the backdrop of patrons in the bar, and my inner voice nagging at me to turn my attention back to the pretty girl at the front. But I don’t. I keep my focus on Jason, waiting for him to break.

He fidgets the longer I stare, until finally his shoulders tighten. “No, you don’t think I—”

I lift a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. “It’s very interesting to me what happens when you allow the space for people to speak.” I chuckle. “You see, silence is often the best way to draw out the rats.”

Leaning in, I lower my voice. “There are two ways we can do this, Jason. You can hold a modicum of self-dignity and allow the twins to take you to your new accommodations without causing a scene.” I grin. “Or you can do this the hard way.” Reaching into my pocket, I grip the leather handle of my knife, gently placing it on the table next to me. “I assure you, picking the latter won’t end in your favor.”

Jason’s head shakes back and forth, his chest heaving with his staccato breath. “Listen, you don’t understand. He made me. He would have killed me, man. I can’t—I didn’t have a choice.”

My head tilts, filing away his slip of the tongue for later. I’m not surprised he isn’t the one behind the whispers, Ru and I both have many enemies, and someone of Jason’s stature is more likely to be a bitch boy than a mastermind. My stomach tightens, wondering if he’ll be forthcoming with the name, or if I’ll have to drag it from his throat by force.

I nod, sliding from the booth and running my hand down the front of my suit as I move to his side of the table. I bend down next to his ear. “There’s always a choice.”

And then I walk away, my eyes already locked on the girl at the front of the bar.