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“He’s Rogue. Unpredictable and stubborn. Always has been, always will be.”
Nash laughed and sat up, prepping to leave. But Trey had one more matter he needed to discuss. It was something he was hoping would stay off Rogue and Oz’s radar. Trey had looked into it himself, but he needed a deeper dive, and Nash was notorious for his ability to uncover everything meant to stay hidden.
“Got a guy. Need the background.” Trey paused. “All of it.”
Nash stilled. “You want me to do it?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. What’s the name?”
“Ben Crosby.” Trey grasped his glass tightly. “And I appreciate your discretion.”
Trey wouldn’t outright tell Nash not to share any information with Oz. He didn’t have to.
Nash nodded. “Got it. I’ll get everything I can and send it to you. Whose crew is he a part of?”
“He’s not.”
Trey watched Nash slowly look up. “This is personal?”
It shouldn’t have been. With all his rules, codes, and control, Trey should’ve never taken an interest in Ben Crosby. He shouldn’t even know his name or background. Or what he did. He wouldn’t if he’d never looked into Dahlia. But Trey wouldn’t be sharing that piece of information with Nash.
“It’s a request with discretion.”
“I’ll get it done right away.” Nash stood and buttoned his jacket.
Without warning, Rogue stormed through the door. Trey jerked his head, and his gaze quickly bypassed Rogue to the small-framed woman behind him. Trey had little time to focus on Dahlia’s face when he realized Rogue was practically dragging her through the room. What the fuck? Rogue didn’t release her forearm until they were a few feet away from the seating area.
“Make her tell you who the fuck did that, Trey!” Rogue shouted.
Trey immediately stood, eyeing Dahlia. Her head was bowed, looking down at the floor, standing a foot away behind Rogue. Her hair was swept forward, shadowing her face. “What’s the problem?”
Rogue scowled. “Her fucking face!”
What the hell was he talking about? Trey stepped to the side, looking directly at her.
“Dahlia,” Trey said, and she slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, semi-bloodshot, tired-looking, and her lips were pale.
Without any hesitation, Rogue roughly swept her hair away from her face, exposing the dark pink handprint across her cheek.
What the fuck?
Trey walked around the chair with his eyes locked on her cheek. She’d kept her head bowed, but Trey could see it in plain sight.
“Dahlia?”
“It’s nothing,” she whispered.
Trey shared a look with Rogue and back at Nash, who was staring at her while he moved to the right, leaving the couch available.
“Sit down,” Trey said, resting his hand on her back and guiding her to the couch. “What happened?”
When she didn’t respond, he crouched down in front of her and tipped her chin with his hand. What the fuck? Her face was heavily masked with makeup, but he could see past it since it had been wiped off in one particular spot.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“It looks like a fucking handprint!” Rogue lunged closer but halted when Trey shot up his arm.
