Page 42 of Risky Taste
I sit in my truck just outside the police station, my hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, and I slam my palm against it, the horn blaring into the nearly empty lot. “Fuck!”
Everything’s crumbling, slipping through my fingers. Noah and his little pack of bastards have been gone since yesterday, leaving me here, choking on the wreckage. Friends, my ass. And brothers? I kept them around because I thought they were loyal and then I find them disappearing when things get a little tough? Fucking hell.
It didn’t help that I had one of my old superiors blowing up my phone, saying that I needed to report to the police station. The outcome doesn’t look good but I have plans in place, safeguards. This doesn’t end until I say it does because it’s a gameIstarted and it’s oneI’llend.
People shuffle past on the sidewalk, their heads turning, eyes narrowing as they whisper my name. I thought I had it lockeddown. Threatening Noah, pressing that gun to his ear, dousing him in whiskey—it was supposed to keep him in line, keep this whole mess contained.
He’s always been softhearted and I figured he’d break, crawl back into his hole and shut his mouth, along with the men he’s dragged into bed. But it backfires, because a new, more thoroughpublicreport hit this morning, splashed across every screen, every paper, and it’s a fucking guillotine.
It’s got shit in there I never breathed to a soul—dates, names, deals I buried deep—and the connections are laid out plain as day, neon signs pointing straight to me. It’s worse than anything my superiors ever dug up, a hundred times more damning, and now the whole world knows just how deep I’m in this shit, how long I’ve been swimming in it.
I slam the wheel again, the sting in my palm doing nothing to dull the fury boiling under my skin. “How the fuck did this happen?” I snarl before picturing Noah’s face, that smug little shit probably thinking he’s safe with his precious guard dogs. But it’s only the beginning and each and every one of them will pay for their betrayal. Noah will suffer because he took everything from me, the life I was supposed to live, the parents I was supposed to have…
Blowing out a deep breath, I pull down the visor and stare into the mirror—red-rimmed eyes, jaw clenched, hair a mess—and I hate it, hate how I look like I’m losing it, like I’m the one who’s weak. I’m not supposed to be here, not like this, not with my name dragged through the mud while Noah gets to play the victim.
I have no idea how they even got all that goddamn information. Heath, maybe, that spineless prick, squealing when the heat got too close, but even he didn’t know everything. I lean back, my head thudding against the seat, and drag a hand down my face.
“I’ve got this,” I tell myself before slipping out of the car. Because I’m not going down alone. Heath’s in the crossfire for sure but Mr. Perfect Noah Strong, with his sad eyes and his medical degree, he’s not getting out of this clean. There’s a lovely picture I’ve taken, hoping that it’ll ruin the last shred of his dignity as I take him with me.
That report might’ve fucked me, but I’ll twist it, turn it back on him, make sure he chokes on it too. I reach the door, my hand on the handle, and pause, my breath fogging in the chill. “You’re not winning this, Noah,” I mutter, my voice a low growl, and I push inside, ready to burn it all down with me.
I make it a few feet before my gaze snags on Heath returning to his car, his entire posture bent out of shape as if whatever he said in the station has put him on edge. Which means he probably squealed like a fucking rat. We were in this together, every step of the way—hell, I even gave him my brother… cousin.
I stalk over, Heath straightening when he sees me, his face tightening, but not fast enough to hide the flicker of guilt. “You were supposed to fix this shit,” I snap, stopping inches from him. I jab a finger at his chest, barely resisting the urge to shove him into that fancy car of his. “This was your job, Heath. Keep it quiet, keep it contained. What the fuck happened?”
He crosses his arms, the muscles in his jaw pulling tight. “We underestimated what your friends would do,” he pushes out. “Logan, Sebastian, Declan—they moved faster than we thought. Noah too. And now it’s out of control. That report this morning? It’s got everything, Kurt. Shit we didn’t even know they’d find.”
I laugh, a harsh, barking sound that scrapes my throat. “Out of control? No kidding. Everyone’s whispering my name like I’m some goddamn leper and you’re standing here with your luxury ride like it’s not your mess too.” My hands shake, itching to grab him, but he holds up a hand, his eyes narrowing.
“There’s still a story we can weave,” he says, lowering his voice, glancing at the station. “Pin it on one of the higher-ups. Sergeant Michaels was in on it, feeding us intel, covering tracks. We lean hard on that, make him the fall guy. It’s not perfect, but it buys us time.”
Michaels. That bastard’s been riding my coattails for years, greasing the wheels when I needed it. If I’m going down, he’s a decent shield. “Fine,” I mutter. “But you better make it stick, Heath. I’m not sinking alone.” I don’t tell Heath that I’m throwing Noah under the bus because that’s always been the plan. That part has never changed. Whatever works faster to get me out of the limelight, though, is what I’m using right now.
I leave Heath with a small shove, knowing anything else could get into more shit than I already am. I barely make it through the door before my old sergeant is nodding to the room just to the right. There’s a few other people in there I don’t recognize, detectives, someone else in uniform, clearly a few ranks higher than I am and then there’s one lone seat across the table for me.
“Kurt,” Michaels starts, his voice flat, “you know why you were called in here. We need to figure out the truth of these claims because there’s a lot of bullshit going around right now. Heath was just in here spinning a tale as wild as these reports and now it’s your turn to set the record straight.”
The detective beside him just shakes his head. “As much as I’d like to give Mr. Strong the benefit of the doubt, his name has come out too many times in this investigation. Circumventing the issue isn’t going to help us.” His gaze falls on me. “I want to know who you were working with and how deep this operation went. These are some serious allegations and we all want to put this shit to rest.”
I should probably call a lawyer but that’ll just drag this shit out until we’re all tired and at each other’s throats. I always knew the game would have to end at some point and I know I can’t wiggleout clean—Michaels might’ve helped, but he’s not dumb enough to take the full hit, and the evidence is stacked too high. And now that he’s in the room, I can’t exactly use him.
So, I use the one card I have left, hoping it’ll move some of the attention from me. “Noah,” I say, dropping the name like a stone. “Noah Strong. He’s been in it from the start.”
The room goes still and Michaels blinks, his pen freezing mid-scratch, the other two exchanging a look, their brows furrowing. “Your brother?” Michaels says, disbelief lacing his tone, and I shrug, keeping my face blank.
“Cousin, technically. But yeah. He’s not the saint you think. He knew about the deployments, the tweaks, all of it. Helped me pull strings when it suited him. Having him stateside helped.” My voice stays steady, the lie sliding out easy. They murmur among themselves, scribbling notes, and I sit back, the knot in my chest loosening just a fraction. They’re buying it, or at least chewing on it, and that’s all I need for now.
Michaels clears his throat, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t leave town, Kurt. We’ll have more questions for you. This isn’t over.” He stands, the others following, and I rise too.
“I’m not arrested yet?” I ask, tilting my head, testing him.
He steps closer, waiting until we’re the only two in here, his voice dropping. “You better thank your lucky stars that I’m running this bullshit or you would be in a jail cell right now with a bond higher than whatever is in your bank account. Don’t get cocky. For the record, throwing your own family under the bus is a shit move. Stay put unless you want whatever heat is going to come from this investigation.” He walks me out to my truck, delivering me right to the driver’s side. “I mean it, Strong. Don’t make me regret this.”
“Oh, you should have thought of that before you got into bed with me,” I say, my tone light, edged with venom, and I climb in, slamming the door shut. I peel out of the lot before he has achance to say anything else, knowing that to keep up this ruse, to make sure that some of the heat lands on Noah, I have to play my next card.
I scroll through a myriad of numbers before finding the last one in my contacts, a lifeline I’ve tapped too many times—Ricky, a shady bastard I’ve done more deals with than I can count. My thumb hovers, then presses, and the dial tone ringing through the car. He picks up, his voice gravelly, impatient. “Yeah?”
“Meet me at the usual spot. Got something for you.”
