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God save me from teenagers. No doubt, Hammer is cussing me out in his head for sticking one on his bitch seat.
Morgan
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Ding. Dong.
Ding. Dong.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
The rapid percussions of someone at my door startles me awake. Grabbing my pepper spray from my nightstand, I sit up and get out of bed. No one visits me unexpectedly. Ever. Not even Casey. My neighbors must have misplaced guests, or maybe this is some crazy prank.
Looking out my peephole, I see a man in a black shirt, a black leather vest with a patch that says “ice”, and jeans. His brown hair is short on the sides yet a little longer on the top. Before I can inspect him through the tiny hole longer, he is pounding on my door again, making me jump.
Twisting the safety piece, I ready my pepper spray as I twist the lock on my door. I don’t even get my hand on the knob to turn it before I am being pushed back by my door opening.
Raising my arm, I ready to spray when my wrist is suddenly wrapped in a firm grip and my hand quickly and efficiently emptied of its contents. So much for my self-defense savviness.
“This one belong to you?” the rugged looking stranger gruffly asks me as he points his thumb over his shoulder, obviously pissed. There is another man with him. His vest has a patch that says “Hammer” and a teen girl shifting nervously beside him.
Taken aback by his terse attitude, I stand there for a moment, frozen and unsure of what to do. His eyes are so dark and lethal looking I can’t tell if they are black or brown. The harsh lines of his face accentuate his high cheekbones that are flushed in anger, and his strong jaw is clenched tight. I can’t decide if he is drop dead sexy, in a scary sort of way, or just plain scary. My chest rapidly rises and falls as I struggle to catch up with everything happening. Following his pointed finger, my eyes land on my sister.
Madyson, my drop dead gorgeous, just turned eighteen, high school senior, little sister is standing in my doorway. Her eyes plead with me to take her.
What the heck did she get herself tangled up in now? Why did she bring this to my doorstep? Our parents expect bad things from her; therefore, this would be nothing unusual. However, I don’t expect her to bring her problems to me.
“Ummm,” I begin, but I am cut off.
“Ummm, nothin’. She gave us this address to drop her off at. Since you obviously aren’t old enough to be her mother, I’m goin’ to assume she’s your sister. There is a similarity in your features. Clue in, sweets; girls at this age shouldn’t be out this late and certainly not dressed like a hooker. Know where your girl is. Take responsibility, for fuck’s sake. Bad things can happen,” He releases my wrist harshly and turns to walk away.
Something changes inside me. I should stay quiet and let him leave, but I can’t. “Take responsibility? You don’t know me, mister, don’t judge me.”
Looking over his shoulder, his cold stare meets mine. “I didn’t fuckin’ stutter. Take responsibility. She’s yours. She’s carefree and breathing. Keep her home, keep her dressed, and that’ll keep her carefree and breathing.”
My sister steps into my condo as the stranger makes his way out without ever looking back.
“Seriously? Seriously! I can’t believe you, Madyson! Why did you bring your problems to my doorstep?” I yell hysterically, not worrying about my neighbors or what the stranger may hear.
“Mom and Dad,” she croaks out. “I’m always the disappointment, and I didn’t want to deal with it tonight. Give me a break, please,” She is begging me. I can’t stand when she does this—uses me as her hiding spot when she has done something wrong and doesn’t want to face our parents who expect too much, yet always make us feel as if we never measure up.
I don’t know what to say or do. I am half asleep and not prepared for any of this tonight.
Sighing in defeat, I tell her, “Go to bed. Call Mom and tell her you’re over here. Then go home tomorrow.” Not waiting for her reply, I lock up quickly and retreat to my room.
Chapter
3
Ice
“Screech, run Madyson Leigh Powell through all channels. She just turned eighteen. Hopefully there won’t be anything, but I want her entire life on my desk tonight,” I order into my phone.
Screech is our computer guru, hacker, IT guy, or whatever-the-hell title he chooses to go by. I don’t give a shit what he calls himself as long as he keeps doing what I need him to do. The man is a genius on web searches, hiding information that needs to stay buried, deleting information that needs to not exist, and creating false paper trails when the time calls for it. He is tall, lanky, and socially awkward. His crazy curly brown hair, glasses, and nut hugging skinny jeans he chooses to wear don’t make him the typical Regulator. He is loyal and a borderline genius. I trust him with my life, in his own way. With a few taps on his keyboard, he could ruin someone’s life as they know it.
