Page 143 of Illicit

Night has set in, and the criminals usually are out to play by now.

But not tonight. I haven’t seen one.

My cell rings and Teagan’s name flashes on the screen. I connect the call immediately. “You’re late.”

“Wanted to make sure you’d show up. And I had to make sure you didn’t have the place surrounded since you are a pig these days.”

I look around to see where he might be. “I want to talk to Teagan. If you want me to hand over my life’s savings, I need to know you’re going to pay up.”

“You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“You’re late to your own deal. I’ve never trusted you—it’s hard to go downhill from there. Let me talk to her.”

I hear the phone shuffle, and he growls in the background, “Say something, dammit.”

My insides tighten when she cries out in pain before calling my name. “Roc!”

Fuck.

“She’s still breathing.”

This can’t be done soon enough. “Get her here, and I’ll give you the money.”

“We’re on our way.” He disconnects the call immediately.

I scan my surroundings and do what I always do. It never fails.

I see myself. How it could have been.

The night before I graduated from the DEA academy, I found a moment alone with Brax and Landyn. I thanked them for pulling me out of the hellhole I was born into.

Both of them looked at me like I’d grown a second head. Brax told me all he did was open a door. I was the one who walked through it.

Landyn did what she always does when it gets emotional. She threw herself in my arms, held on tight, and told me she loved me.

That was the day I told her she was the first person to feel that way about me.

She cried.

Brax told me he’s never seen anyone cry more happy tears over someone than his wife had for me. Then he said he should be jealous, but he did it with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Standing here, knowing what Teagan has gone through because of me, I’ve come full circle.

And I don’t fucking like it. This was the point I never once wanted to circle back to.

Something catches my attention. Turning onto the street is the car that was described by every witness at the scene of the crash. It comes around the corner on a wing and a prayer. The bumper hangs off the front corner, and it’s scratched to hell and back with the paint from Teagan’s car.

My fucking father. He’ll rot in hell for what he did to her. It might not be in the op plan, but I’ll make sure of it.

I’m in the dark corner of the parking lot where the floodlight is out on the lamp pole. I stand at the hood of my car with my duffle gripped tight in my hand.

His brakes complain when he comes to a stop and throws it in park. My gut clenches when I see her dark hair in the passenger seat. My father doesn’t waste any time, though it does take him some effort to climb out.

It’s the first time I’ve laid eyes on him since I left the courtroom after driving the final nail into his coffin.

From his expression, you’d think he hates me as much as I hate him.

Not possible.

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