Decker

  Decker

  Eden Summers

  Contents

  Bonus Opportunity

  Prologue

  1. Keira

  2. Decker

  3. Keira

  4. Decker

  5. Keira

  6. Decker

  7. Keira

  8. Decker

  9. Decker

  10. Decker

  11. Decker

  12. Decker

  13. Keira

  14. Decker

  15. Decker

  16. Decker

  17. Keira

  18. Decker

  19. Keira

  20. Decker

  21. Keira

  22. Decker

  23. Keira

  24. Decker

  25. Keira

  26. Decker

  27. Keira

  28. Decker

  29. Keira

  Epilogue

  Also by Eden Summers

  About the Author

  Cover Design by Letitia @RBA Designs

  Copyright © 2018 by Eden Summers

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Bonus Opportunity

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  Prologue

  DECKER

  I stare at the blood on the floor, the liquid soaking the carpet and bathing my soul in sins.

  I didn’t cause the death at my feet, but the guilt taunts me regardless.

  This isn’t the happily-ever-after I expected for this meeting. I only wanted to help Hunter. And in return, I’d be helping the woman who has made a remarkable change in him. The same woman he knocked out minutes ago for her own safety, then watched in livid rage as Torian, the psychopath we’re now indebted to, carried her from the scene of the crime, leaving us to deal with the aftermath.

  I can’t think straight through the whiplash.

  One minute we had the upper hand, the next that same hand is shoved up our asses and Torian is playing ventriloquist with our lives.

  It’s a fucking disaster with consequences set to haunt me to my dying day, because now I’m trapped. Not in this office in the back of a prestigious restaurant, but in this world.

  I’m no longer a spectator, dabbling from the sidelines.

  Now I’m in the thick of it.

  “Keep your mouth shut.” Hunter gets in my face. “Neither of us saw what happened. We were talking. They were arguing. Then hell broke loose. You got it? If they ask for specifics, tell them you can’t remember. Shock has fucked with your head.”

  I nod, because, seriously, shock has fucked with my head.

  “You got that?” He grabs my bicep and gives me a shake.

  “Yeah.” I yank my arm free. “I’ve fucking got it.”

  The police close in, their indecipherable instructions booming from a loudspeaker near the front of the building.

  “This is going to get messy.” Hunter’s comment is serious. Not one hint of a joke.

  My attention drifts over the frontal lobe splattered across the floor before I drag my gaze to his. “Somehow I think we’re past that point.”

  We predicted a mess. We knew getting out of here wouldn’t be easy. But this… This—the lifeless bodies and the taint of gunpowder in the air—this shit is a whole different dimension from mess.

  This fucked up disaster is beyond repair, and certainly beyond salvation.

  It’s the hole that keeps on digging.

  The shitty gift that keeps on giving.

  “This is the police,” a voice shouts. “Is anyone in here?”

  “Yeah. Back here.” Hunter jerks his head at me, silently asking if I’m holding myself together.

  I nod, pretending this crap happens on a daily basis.

  It’s no skin off my nose.

  I lie to the cops about double murders all the damn time.

  Piece of cake.

  The squishy crap on the rug that looks like brains isn’t going to haunt me for years. Nope. I’ve already resolved that shit.

  I’m chill.

  Hunter narrows his eyes, and I can practically hear his thoughts. He’s well aware one slip will land us both in prison where we’ll have to hold our ankles during shower sessions until we’re old and gray.

  “We’ve got this,” he murmurs. “Torian has cops in his pocket. He’s not going to let us fry. So man the fuck up and keep it simple.”

  * * *

  Eight hours later…

  * * *

  “They questioned you for a lot longer than they did with me.” Hunter’s stare pins me in place from the other side of the dining table. His words are a harsh accusation despite the lazy way he cradles the beer in his hands.

  “Excuse me?” I take a sip of scotch and mimic his relaxed demeanor even though there’s so much shit churning in my head I swear I’m a few brief contemplations from a stroke.

  “The police station,” he clarifies. “Your interview took twice as long as mine. Did you keep your mouth shut like a good little boy?”

  “Yeah, I kept my mouth shut,” I sneer. “But rumor has it that you didn’t. The cops mentioned something about you sucking pole like it’s going out of fashion, just so you could get out before dinner.”

  He grins, but it’s not kind. It never is. “You’re edgy. Did little Deckey sing like a canary?”

  I glare and down a gulp of alcohol to stop myself from reaching across the table to smash his face against the thick polished wood. “Question my integrity one more time, asshole, see how far it gets you.”

  I didn’t squeal on Torian. If I did, I would’ve been long gone hours ago instead of sitting in an unfamiliar house with the asshole breathing down my neck, claiming I’m his new poster boy for criminal activity.

  Apparently, I work for him now.

  I no longer report to Hunter. I’m not the big teddy bear’s faithful sidekick who tags along on the occasional stakeout or hacks into some random joe’s personal information.

  I’m balls deep in Cole Torian’s pocket.

  His pathetic little bitch.

  Yay, me.

  Hunter leans forward and shoots a quick glance over his shoulder, checking on the man of the moment, who talks on his cell. Torian seems to be relaying the same fictional story to everyone in his employ—Jacob, aka his out-of-town drug runner, fatally shot his number one goon, Carlos, moments before the now-dead-guy inflicted a fatal shot of his own.

  Implausible? Hell yes.

  Will anyone dare to question him? Fuck no.

  Nobody who knows his power and reach would be that stupid.

  Hunter meets my gaze, his eyes intense as he murmurs, “Are you sure this is the life you want?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I seethe. “This shit is right up my alley.”

  I roll my eyes then return my scowl toward the living room. This house is dripping in dirty money—the artwork, the furnishings, the architecture. And it’s not even Cole’s house. It’s his older sister, Layla’s. The same sister who listened to the fictional murder story an
d didn’t question its lunacy. Then she nodded like a good little puppy when her brother told her to go get her kid from a friend’s house.

  She’s either scared out of her mind, or an obedient little doll.

  I don’t know which is worse.

  “Have you thought about running?” Hunter whispers.

  “Of course I have.” I keep my voice low, making sure not to disturb the psychopath in the room. “But waiting for a bullet in the back of my brain for being a traitor isn’t something that fills me with giddy excitement, ya know?”

  “I’ll help you run. You’re stupid if you stay.”

  I scoff. “Jeez, Hunt, you always know how to make a guy feel special.”

  “I’m not joking. If you want out, say the word. It’s now or never.”

  Maybe I should take him up on the offer.

  Walk away. Start over someplace new.

  But I’d have to leave all this behind. Every little bit. And not just the money. I’d have to forget what I’ve seen. What I’ve done.

  I came looking for trouble. I wanted destruction.

  Well, maybe not to this degree.

  Back then I wasn’t entirely stable. I wanted to be a part of this stupid game of chicken. Now I don’t know what the hell I’m doing setting down roots in the middle of a minefield.

  Torian falls silent, taking a gulp from his glass of gin and tonic before starting another call.

  “Let me think on it.” I push from my chair, grab my drink, and stalk outside the glass doors to get much needed fresh air on the back deck.

  Hunt’s right. If I don’t jump ship now, I never will. Not unless it’s in a body bag. And I guess that doesn’t really matter much anymore, either.

  My life doesn’t have a high value these days.

  I’ve got nothing. Nothing but this.

  Yes, my family is out there somewhere—my parents are traveling the country in their camper van, trying to outrun their nightmares. My brother is living in the middle of desolate-as-fuck Oregon, basking in seclusion. And my sister is…

  I huff out a breath.

  I lost sight of Penny so fucking long ago. She’s God knows where, doing God knows what, with God knows who. It’s the unknown that kills me.

  Nobody is waiting for me to drop by.

  This, right here, right now, is all I have.

  I lean against the wall of the house, one foot cocked against the brick while I drink the last of my scotch and curse myself for the stupid decision to give up smoking twelve months ago.

  I’d give anything for a nicotine boost right now. And more scotch. And less of a death wish.

  The slam of a door brings me to my feet, and I turn to find a woman stalking through the living room. Another Torian. I’ve seen her picture online. I’ve read about her in the papers—Keira, the youngest member of the crime-riddled family, at least before Layla’s daughter, Stella, was born.

  I cock my head, trying to hear the vehement words from the slim brunette, but I can only make out the vicious tone.

  It’s a showdown. Unhinged Barbie versus Satan in a suit. Not that it’s a fair fight. Satan is entirely unfazed by the confrontation, while Barbie has blushed cheeks and disheveled hair, as if she’s trekked her fingers through the long, dark strands a thousand times.

  I step forward, not willing to miss a moment of the theatrics, and slowly inch the door open. There’s the softest squeak of the hinge as her aggression batters the room, but she hears it, those rage-filled baby blues snapping in my direction.

  She tries to stare me down, her petite frame so tightly wound I bet I could twist a stick up her ass and hear a music box melody come to life.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks.” I give a derisive finger wave. “Don’t mind me. I couldn’t hear the drama outside. It’s much better from in here.”

  Torian ignores me. He should know me well enough by now to understand I’m not going to stop being a smartass just because he’s got my balls in his fist.

  He may own me, but he sure as fuck won’t control me.

  “Who is he?” Keira’s gaze snaps to her brother.

  “Decker,” Torian mutters. “He works for us now.”

  She scoffs, the burst of menace turning into a bitter laugh. “And I bet he found out before I did, too.”

  “He was there, Keira. It’s pretty hard to tell you about the incident before someone who witnessed it.”

  “Don’t talk down to me, you smug piece of shit. I had to hear about a fatal shooting in my own family’s restaurant on the damn radio. And when I tried calling you, numerous times, all I got was your message service.”

  “This is business. I had to make some calls before—”

  “Oh, I know.” Her eyes narrow to spiteful slits. “I got in contact with ten people in between my calls to you. Ten people, Cole. And all of them had already spoken to you. How can you keep me in the dark like this? You’re risking my safety.”

  “I’m not risking a damn thing.” His tone is sinister. “This had nothing to do with you. So, if or when I finally got around to calling, it would’ve been out of courtesy, not necessity.”

  “Courtesy?” Those pretty ruby lips flatten into a straight line. Her jaw ticks. “Who are you, Cole? I don’t even know you anymore.”

  He inclines his head. “It’s better that way.”

  She retreats, her face crumpling as she wraps her arms around her middle. Moments of heated silence pass, the tension building while Hunter and I watch in avid fascination.

  The woman has brass balls, that’s for sure.

  As if hearing my thoughts, her gaze meets mine, those deep blue eyes shimmering with emotion, before she glares and focuses out the window. “Where’s Layla?”

  “She went to get Stella from a friend’s house.”

  “Under your instruction, of course.” She sniffs. “I bet you put her on lockdown, too. Are you the reason she wouldn’t answer my calls? I swear to God, since Dad left, you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

  Torian takes a threatening step forward. “Watch your mouth. I’m growing tired of your bullshit.”

  “Fuck you, Cole. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “Can’t I?” In a flash, his hand wraps around her throat.

  I shove from my chair, and Hunter follows suit.

  She doesn’t flail. She barely reacts. Apart from the high tilt of her chin, nothing has changed. Venom still shoots from her gaze. There’s no fear. No retreat.

  “Let her go, Torian.” I step toward them.

  He gets in her face. “Pull yourself together,” he repeats, this time softer, under control, as he releases his grip.

  She doesn’t whimper. There’s barely a sag in her shoulders. Instead, she seems to take his demand on board, pulling her crazy into check.

  “I’m getting another drink.” Hunter starts for the kitchen, his leveled words and casual pace creating a calming buffer. “Who wants one?”

  “Make mine a double.” Torian turns his back on his sister and grabs his empty glass from the coffee table.

  Life returns to normal.

  Well, as normal as this fucked up existence can be, but I can’t drag my gaze away from her. I can’t stop waiting for the moment where she weakens. Where she breaks.

  She doesn’t.

  It’s fascinating.

  She’s fascinating.

  She’s also beautiful and strong, yet obviously harboring the same death wish that has coiled around my soul.

  Her rampant breathing lessens, the warrior vanishing, and a picture of vulnerable perfection takes its place as she glances my way. This time when our eyes meet, she doesn’t glare. There’s no menace or spite in her gaze. I see confusion in the deep furrow of her brow.

  But most of all, I see appreciation.

  I see her thanks.

  And it’s the only reason I need to make me stay.

  1

  Keira

  Four months later

  * * *

  I glance around my family�
�s restaurant, over the standing guests who mingle and laugh between each guzzle of expensive alcohol. They exude joy in their tailored suits and stylish dresses while filling their bellies with the finest cuisine.

  It’s what we do.

  All part of the show.

  I paste on a grin, playing my role. I appear humbled by their presence. Blessed by their support as I saunter around the room flaunting a halter-neck gown worth more than most people earn in a month.

  I’m acting.

  But so is my audience.

  Their kindness is a facade. Their friendship a lie. Their happiness a bluff.

  I don’t doubt that each and every man in attendance would slaughter me and mine in a heartbeat if they thought they could get away with it. If they thought, for even a second, they could bring us down.

  The women aren’t any better. Their polite questions are made with sinister intent. Digging for information. Scrambling for leverage with every softly spoken word.

  They’re fake. From their personas to their smiles—none more so than mine.

  “Can I have your attention, please?” I raise my champagne flute, my mask of charm perfectly in place as the chatter lessens. “I’d like you all to join me in a toast.”

  My focus strays to the reason for the engagement party—Hunter and Sarah—and for a moment I don’t have to feign happiness, even though the man in question scowls at me.

  The love between these two is one of the very few real things in my world. Their relationship isn’t about rainbows and butterflies. It’s dark and gritty. Pure and honest. At times, it’s honestly fucking scary. But honest nonetheless.