Circle of Death (17 page)

“And what if...I can’t do that? Go home, I mean?” I ask quietly, “What if this is the only place for me, after all?”

Juliet’s smile is radiant in the gathering twilight. “Then we’ll welcome you with open arms, baby sister,” she whispers.

I close my eyes as she plants a kiss on my forehead. It’s the same thing she used to do when we were small, every time I’d wake up from a bad dream or come home after a terrible day at school. In this moment, I feel safe. Comforted. Cared for in a way that I haven’t since the day Juliet ran away from home. How can I pack up and leave her side, when I’ve just found her again?

“I’m going to head back to the guys,” she tells me, smoothing my hair out of my face. “Go for a long walk, Logan. Clear your head. Ask yourself those questions. You’ll know in your heart when you’ve figured it out. I believe in you.”

And without another word, she departs. I’m alone at last, watching the sun set above the tree line. Shakily, I pull myself up from the leaf-strewn ground. Without knowing where it is I’m headed, I set off through the woods once more.

With every deep breath of fresh air, my thoughts become more pure. More focused. I’m standing at a crossroads in my life. Down one path is the metropolitan, career-driven life I thought I always wanted. Down the other is a life with Devlin as a woman of the Circle of Death. I picture myself taking the first trail—driving myself like mad to score an editorial position, slowly working my way up the food chain, pouring my heart and soul into my work. Then my thinking shifts to the other life I could claim as my own—riding on the back of Devlin’s Harley, getting to know Juliet again, blowing off the rest of the world to live by our own rules. I realize, as I truly consider my choice, that there’s one important difference between these two paths: If I go home, I have the chance to be successful. If I stay, I have the chance to be happy.

And when I think about it like that, I realize that there’s no choice to be made, after all.

Chapter Fourteen

Night has fallen on the island once more by the time I slip back within the walls of The Club. I employ my exclusive key card to sneak back inside the stone fortress, stealing up to the suite I’m sharing with Devlin. I feel lighter than I have in months, years, as I all but fly back up to our rooms. Wrenching open my bedroom door, I fling myself inside and wrap my arms tightly around my waist. As soon as Devlin gets back for the evening, I’m going to tell him about the decision I’ve made.

Quickly, before he reappears, I dig my cell phone out of my dresser and whip up a new email to send Elliot Simmons’ way. My fingers tremble as I shoot off my missive.

Elliot,

I want to thank you again for giving me a shot at my first assignment as a professional journalist. I’ve learned so much from this experience already, and I know it will prove to have been a formative one for me—not just professionally, but personally as well. As grateful as I am for the opportunity, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am not the right person to write this story. Turns out I’m too close to the subject matter at hand. I hope you’ll understand, and bestow your generous advance on another new graduate in need.

All the best,

Logan Farrah.

And with the swift tap of a button, the message is sent. I’m free of my assignment, free of my old life. Free to do whatever I please from here on out. It’s a new sensation, freedom. But I think I’ll grow to love it.

I look up as a towering figure appears in the doorway of the second room. Devlin’s come home early. His features are earnest, determined. There are words on the tip of his tongue, just as there are on mine. As one, we draw a quick breath and let fly with our truth:

“I want to stay,” I say in a rush.

“I want you to say,” he says, at the exact same instant.

Smiling, we race toward each other across the wide room. I throw my arms around his broad shoulders and feel my feet lift the floor as he catches me in his arms. And though Devlin’s the one holding me up, I know that he’s putting himself as much in my hands as I am in his. Neither of us ever learned how to trust another person, never had someone to teach us how. But in this moment, I know that we can teach each other. I have faith in us.

I grin as Devlin swings me around and presses my back hard against the bedroom wall. His powerful hips pin me there, suspended by his strength. Supported as ever by his boundless, bottomless need for me. I wrap my long legs around his tapered waist as he kisses me, hard. The taste of him bombards my senses as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. In an instant, I feel tipsy—drunk off the feel of his hard body pressing against me, the promise of a life with him.

Maybe this will all turn out to be a terrible mistake. Maybe my heart is going to get decimated by this incredible man before me. Maybe I’ll fall off the back of a Harley, or get kidnapped, or find that I all I want is a house in the suburbs with a few kids and an herb garden. But for this moment, all I want in the world is Devlin Vile and his crazy, fucked up world.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. “I’ve just been beating my head against the fact that you’re leaving at the end of the week. I couldn’t figure out why it was killing me to know you’d only be in my life for a few more days. I’m a bit of a slow learner, I guess.”

“Why was it killing you, Dev?” I ask, taking his face in my hands. “I know why I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving, but I’m afraid to say it out loud...”

“I think I can guess,” Devlin grins, running his hands all along my body. “But if it makes it easier if I spill my guts first...I’m falling for you, Logan. I’m falling for you.”

“To tell you the truth, Dev,” I breathe, an ecstatic smile, “I think I’ve already fallen.”

But words can’t do justice to what we feel any longer. Our bodies won’t be kept from each other. We tear off just enough layers of clothing to connect in the most intimate way we can. I cry out as Devlin sinks into me once more, holding me steady against The Club’s solid wall. And all the while, the only thing I can think is:

This is happening. Holy shit, this is really happening.

Chapter Fifteen

The FootSolider Offices

Boston, MA

It’s past midnight before the cavalry arrives.

Nearly asleep at her sleek desk, Elliot Simmons jerks to attention as she hears the industrial elevator door slide open. The editor rubs her screen-weary eyes, dislodging her thick-rimmed glasses. She needs to look alert, composed, unflinching. The trouble is, she’s not in possession of any of these qualities, at the moment. In reality, she’s exhausted, frazzled, and doubtful. But she can’t let her visitors know that dangerous truth. Her life depends on it.

“You’d better have good news, Simmons,” drawls a haughty voice from the shadows of the warehouse floor.

“I wouldn’t have called you in for anything short of great news,” Elliot replies, standing to greet her midnight callers.

Her stomach churns uneasily as two men stride into her glass-encased office. They look more or less like the guys she spent her early professional years surrounded by—clean, monied, well-styled men with white teeth and tanned skin. But she knows well enough not to write these two off. She’s seen what happens to those who underestimate them—and more importantly, the people they work for.

“So, out with it,” says the first man, the fairer of the two, “What’s so important that we had to hurry out here in the middle of the night?”

“This is,” Elliot says, turning one of her many computer screens around to face the men.

They lean toward the screen, squinting at the message displayed there. It’s an email Elliot received just hours ago, an email that at once raised and crushed her spirits. On the one hand, the message means that her role in this messily unfolding drama is over. On the other, it means that another innocent young woman has decided to run head first into deadly peril. Elliot almost found herself hoping that this one would get away, escape the trap she herself fell prey to so many years ago. Even if she herself had been punished, it would have meant that her captors were fallible. But of course, that’s not the case.

“As grateful as I am for the opportunity,” the second man reads from the screen, raising his voice to a mockingly girlish key, “I’ve come to the conclusion that I am not the right person to write this story.”

“Turns out I’m too close to the subject matter at hand,” completes the light haired man, grinning maliciously at the words before him. “Well, isn’t that sweet.”

“Looks like our star-crossed lovers have fallen hook, line, and sinker,” chuckles the darker of the men. “That didn’t take long, Mike.”

“It never does, Jim,” says his companion, smiling smugly. “But then again, these matches are engineered to produce all kind of fireworks. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Elliot smiles gamely, but her fractured heart strains under the jab. It wasn’t too long ago that she was a young, ambitious woman, unwittingly used as bait for an influential man whose valuable services were required by the Leviathan Corporation. He was a renegade newspaper maven, she was a twenty-year-old fledgling journalist. They were set in each other’s paths and fell for each other instantly. By the time they realized that Elliot had been specially chosen to be his downfall, it was too late. He was forced to reveal a sensitive source to the corporation in return for Elliot’s safety and security.

To Leviathan’s credit, she’s been taken care of ever since, professionally and financially. And that security only cost her the love of her life. That, and any shred of conscience she may have had left. Since she was used as leverage by Leviathan, she’s been forced to act as something of a broker—sending off other girls to Leviathan’s targets. This new girl was just the latest in a long line of Leviathan’s victims—and, by extension, Elliot’s.

“Do you have anything a little more...salacious we can bring back to the boss?” asks the man named Mike. “An email is nice and all, but you know they like a little excitement back at headquarters.”

“I think I’ve got just the thing,” Elliot says, pulling up a slew of new files on her computer. “It’s just sound, mostly. I was able to hijack her cell’s microphone. But there are a few choice pictures, as well.”

Elliot pushes play on a brief audio file, and suddenly the enclosed office is filled with the sounds of lovemaking. She cringes as she hears the voice of Logan Farrah, the bright, sensitive, promising young girl who sat in her office not a week ago. She’d been so full of life, so full of hope. And I’m helping to destroy her, Elliot thinks despondently.

“That’s Vile’s voice all right,” the man called Jim nods, “I’d recognize that snarl anywhere. Let’s see some pictures.”

Ignoring the wave of nausea that rolls through her stomach, Elliot pulls up a handful of grainy security photos, lifted from a series of hidden cameras. Two bodies—one young and voluptuous, the other toweringly muscular—entwine intimately in each and every shot. Their faces are frozen in masks of ecstatic delight. Elliot takes one look at them and feels quite distinctly that she’s going to be sick.

“That’s the stuff,” Mike murmurs, his face flushed with arousal.

“It’s all here,” Elliot says quickly, handing over a tiny thumb drive to the well-dressed men.

“Good work, Simmons,” Jim says, pocketing the drive. “Looks like your leg of this operation is over. We’ll be in touch about your next assignment.”

“Actually,” Elliot says quickly, as the men turn to go, “I was hoping you could pass along a message to the boss for me, about my...responsibilities in this corporation.”

Mike cocks an eyebrow at the editor. “Go on,” he drawls.

“If possible, I’d like to take on a more peripheral position,” Elliot says, lifting her chin. “Maybe something advisory, less hands-on. The editorial life has treated me well, but it’s a lot to keep up with. I think it’s time to pass the baton—”