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“Christ, Little, you’re a shit undercover agent.”
She wasn’t an undercover agent, and he fucking knew it. She bit down on her tongue to keep the scathing retort inside.
“We need to pin this on the Handlers, Little. Need it. Do you understand me?” There was an air of desperation to his claim.
“Why, sir? Why the Handlers? The Dragons have multiple enemies. Hell, Shark was kidnapping teenage girls and selling them. He worked with the lowest of low. The timeline doesn’t add up. We know the Handlers were in church until late on the night Maverick and I were rescued.” Lies, but since they didn’t keep written records and every MC member had the same story, it couldn’t be disproven. Plus, they’d burned Shark’s cabin and surrounding area to the ground, so time of death wasn’t certain. And thankfully, Stephanie honestly couldn’t speak to the timeline since she’d been in and out of consciousness.
“Because we have a dead Agent, Little. A dead agent with a wife and parents who want answers. And we have a president who doesn’t like the Bureau looking like a bunch of bumbling idiots who can’t solve the murder of one of their own. I want the director position, and I won’t have fucking bikers stealing it from me.”
Stephanie stared up at the leaves rustling as a soft breeze blew by. It calmed her somewhat. At the very least, it kept her from screaming that Agent Rey was a murderer himself, that he’d been responsible for the deaths of three teens, that he’d jumped teams and was Shark’s go-to man. They’d had that conversation already, and it didn’t seem to matter to anyone but her. All that mattered was that the Bureau put on a good front, looked shiny for the politicians, and Baccarella got his promotion.
“We need to shift focus off the Hell’s Handlers, sir. It’s a waste of time and a dead end.”
“To whom?” he barked. “The Gray Dragons gang is destroyed. It’s the Handlers. I can feel it in my fucking bones. I don’t care what you have to do, Little. You get me some goddamned evidence by this time next week.”
He disconnected, leaving her staring at the phone in horror. He didn’t care what she had to do? Was he suggesting she falsify evidence? Plant something to make the Handlers guilt obvious?
How could he ever think she’d do something like that? She’d never do something so wrong, so illegal…
“Listen to me,” she muttered to the trees. She’d lost her shit. There she was, shocked and horrified that her boss would ask her to plant evidence to make an MC who was guilty appear so. But she had no problem lying, covering up, and even assisting that same MC in its criminal activities.
When the hell had everything gotten so fucked up?
The moment you let Maverick kiss you, touch you.
It was true. Before that, she’d been able to pretend there wasn’t an intense connection between them, but once it’d turned physical, she could no longer deny her feelings.
For the first time in almost six years, she longed for her father. Finally, after so long, she understood his dilemma. Understood how it was easy for him to make a choice the world might see as wrong, but he saw as beneficial and worthwhile. If she could go back in time, she’d do everything in her power to help him fight for his freedom.
Feeling the weight of the coming week pressing down on her, she started the trek back to the clubhouse. The brothers were all in church. That was how she was able to sneak out into the woods unnoticed. Tonight was the vote to patch Screw into the club. Apparently, he’d been prospecting for a little over a year, so it was time. If he made it, which she had no doubts about, they’d do that barbaric branding ritual then there’d be a monster of a party.
She wasn’t sure she was up for a party unless it was a private party for two. Her and Maverick, preferably sans clothing. Never having been overly promiscuous or even sexual in the past, Stephanie had basically become a slave to his cock, and his tongue…and even his talented fingers.
For the past few days, they’d gone at it two, three, hell, even four times a day. She couldn’t get enough of the man, and he seemed to feel the same. Rough, gentle, fast, slow, playful, intense. Name it, they’d done it, and she’d loved every second of it.
There wouldn’t have been a problem if that’s all it was, but no, they stayed up well into the night talking, sharing secrets and painful stories from their pasts. Maverick was flirty, fun, and could make her pass out with pleasure, but there was so much more under the surface. He’d revealed a protective streak a mile wide, and he was loyal, caring, and even quite dominant at times. There wasn’t an aspect of him that she didn’t like—if she overlooked his criminal activity, of course.
