Pulled Under Read online

  “I think you need to come to the Walker offices and meet the team. See how powerful the operation is. How far we reach.”

  If they reach far, Devin knows someone they know. Devin could use them to get to me, and then destroy Asher, if not them. “You trust them completely,” I say.

  “Yes. I do.”

  And that’s the problem. That’s the reason I can’t tell him everything. Not yet. Not until he’ll hear me fully about that reach. So maybe not ever. “I was overreacting, Asher.”

  “Let me help you, Sierra.”

  “You are helping me just by being you. We’re friends, right?”

  “Yes. We’re friends.”

  And before I let us be more, I have to tell him everything. But I can’t do that if it means destroying him. “And friends buy friends salads, right?” I ask.

  His lips hint at a smile and he motions to the table. “You want to eat?”

  “Yeah, I want to eat.”

  “Then we’re over my black Am Ex?”

  My cheeks heat. “Yes. We’re over your black Am Ex.”

  “Good.”

  He holds onto me a few beats longer, though, like he can’t let go, and I like that. I really don’t want him to let go, but he does. And I have to let go anyway. We sit down, and he starts to open the bag when I reach for his hand. “Thank you for lunch.”

  He kisses my hand and his lips are warm and I’m so cold, so often now. “Can friends do that?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say, because I really need to kiss him when I can’t. “They can.”

  “Where else can I kiss you?”

  Everywhere please, I think, but I don’t know how to make that right in my mind. I’m not free and I’ll never be free and alive, so for now, I look away. I say nothing more than, “Let’s eat.”

  We both pull the lids off our salads and I take a bite and I smile. “Is it silly that I’m really excited about salad?”

  “I’ve know that feeling. After months in some foreign hellhole, small things, feel really damn good.”

  “You saw a lot of bad things.”

  “I did.”

  I know asking questions invites questions, but I can’t help myself. “Why did you get out?”

  “A bad mission. One that still gives me nightmares and made me question everyone who sent me there. I hit a wall. I had a job waiting with Walker anytime I wanted it and I took it.”

  “Did you know Luke before the SEALs?” she asks.

  “No, but we bonded on the whole New Yorker thing.”

  “New York is like an entirely different planet,” I say. “And I know it’s your home, but it’s crowded, dirty, and expensive.”

  “You’re living in the slum. That makes a difference. You need to experience the real city and the people. And I know just the way.”

  “How is that?”

  “I have a baby shower next weekend for Lauren, Royce’s wife,” he adds. “Go with me and help me survive the damn thing.”

  “Baby shower?” I ask. “You have a baby shower?”

  “Holy hell yes.”

  “Isn’t that usually for women?”

  “This is the Walker clan. We do everything together. And that’s the fucking truth, so help me God. They torture us over there, but I love them all. I need a gift. You have to help me.”

  They do everything together. They’re close. He won’t see the potential of anyone being dirty enough to help Devin. Damn it, I think, but I say, “Yes. Of course.” And now I’ve committed to a baby shower, and a birthday celebration. Like I’m starting a real life here, when I just need the money to leave.

  “Do you have siblings of your own?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “Do you?”

  “No.”

  “What about your parents?” he asks.

  “My father died of a heart attack a few years back. My mother is a retired school teacher.”

  “Is she safe, Sierra?”

  “I hope so. I took steps.”

  “I can find out.”

  I want to say yes. I so want to say yes, but that will open the door to him finding out who I am and who The Beast is as well. “We have a check-in time. I’ll talk to her next month actually.” I move on quickly. “What about your parents?”

  “My father is here and my mother died of an aneurysm when I was ten and she was too young.”

  “Are you close to your father?”

  “No,” he says. “I hate my father.”

  “Why?”

  “Aside from the fact that he’s a very wealthy man who uses his money against everyone?”

  Like Devin, I think.

  “I was young, but I remember him abusing, controlling and intimidating my mother,” he adds.

  Like Devin. I think again.

  “What did you do in Denver, Sierra?”

  “If I tell you—”

  “I won’t look beyond what you tell me. Give me that trust or we’ll never get to know each other.”

  “I’m terrified to trust anyone.”

  “You already trust me.”

  “It’s too soon to trust each other.”

  “And yet, instinctively we all trust and distrust people when we first meet them.”

  “And sometimes we’re wrong.”

  “Is that what happened to you?” he asks.

  I consider that. “No,” I say. “I was just too stupid to see what was in front of me.”

  “I’m in front of you now. Choose to see me. Choose to let me see you.”

  I swallow hard and I don’t let myself think too hard or I’ll run. I’ve trained myself to run and with good reason. I’ve been inches from death two times in nine months. “I’m a year from my Ph.D. in Forensic Psychology. I’d already have it, but I had the opportunity to intern with one of the most sought after forensic psychologists in the country. That meant finishing slower, but having him on my resume and gaining the experience, which was vast, by working his cases with him.”

  “Then you’re one of us?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Walker protects people, and Luke oversees a wide range of airport security now, but at our core, we find the bad guys and we take them down. We consult with law enforcement across the country and even beyond.”

  “I don’t catch bad guys,” I say. “Or I didn’t. I just helped people like you figure who they were and how they think.”

  “Are you good?”

  “Yes. I am. I was.” I move on. “Who were you before the Navy? You were in a rock band, right?”

  “Yeah. I was.”

  “What role in the band?”

  “I sang. That was my thing then.” His lips thin. “I was rebelling against my father. I joined the band and traveled. He called me a druggy and a loser.”

  “Did you do drugs?”

  “No. I’m too much of a control freak, but one of my friends did. He overdosed and died. It shook me, and I dropped out of the band.”

  “And went into the Navy?”

  “No. I did my father’s bidding and I went to Harvard.”

  “Harvard? That’s very prestigious.”

  “My father’s a very powerful man and I had exceptional grades. That and a large donation and I was in.”

  “But ended up a SEAL.”

  “I graduated with a business degree, and was set to work with my father afterward, but I knew if I did, I’d destroy him. I hate him that much.”

  “Because of your mother?”

  “Among other things. While I was in college, I saw him do some pretty horrible things. My hate became my motivation. He didn’t see it. He didn’t know that I’d take the company from him. He didn’t know that’s why I excelled at Harvard.”

  “But you didn’t destroy him. Why?”

  “The day I graduated, he told me I was just like him. That I was going to destroy the world. It hit me hard. I was like him. I decided right then I needed to help save the world. Ironically, that coldness in me that is like him is why I can kill.
What does the psychologist in you say about that?”

  “Good. It kept you alive and now you’re sitting here with me. How is your father so powerful? What does he do?”

  “He’s the CEO and founder of Max Electronics.”

  I blanch. “The Max? The new Apple of the world?”

  “Yeah well, it’s not new. He just did exactly what Apple did. Worked at it for years and then finally hit with a product that took off.”

  “You walked away from Max,” I say, and it’s not really a question but a statement.

  “Yes.”

  “All that money.”

  “Yes.”

  “All that power.”

  “Yes. Is that a problem for you?”

  I reach out and cover his hand with mine. “No. I like you even more now.”

  He studies me several moments, his expression unreadable. “Because the person you’re running from has money and power?”

  “Because I do. That’s all. Because you’re you. That’s even better.”

  “I don’t tell anyone that story, but I told you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to get to the point where you tell me your story. Not today. Not even tomorrow. But it can’t be a long wait, Sierra.”

  “And if I’m never ready?”

  “You’re already ready, but for good reasons, you have to be sure you can trust me. But you’re going to have to tell me.”

  “And if you hate me?”

  “Did you kill someone and do so willingly?”

  “No.”

  “Did you commit a crime?”

  “No.”

  “Are you being blamed for either of those things?”

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t hate you.”

  Until The Beast shows up.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Asher

  Sierra and I step outside the lunch spot and into the crowd, and I slide my arm around her waist. She twists away and steps in front of me. “Friends, Asher.” A man rams into her and shoves her into me.

  I settle my hands on her waist and pull her to me, molding her body to mine. And damn, I really like her body against mine. “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yes.” Her hand flattens on my chest and she stares at it a moment before granting me a blue-eyed stare. “Yes, now I am, I think.”

  And I don’t believe she’s talking about the crowd or the shove. “You were saying something about friends?” I ask.

  “Was I?”

  “Yes. I believe you were.”

  She holds up her phone, dodging the topic without pulling away. “What subway do I take to get to this address?”

  “What’s at this address?”

  “A store I need to go to.”

  I pull her around to my side and slide her hand to my arm, giving her the choice to hold onto me or not, but letting her know what I want. Her holding on to me the way I plan to hold onto her. “I’ll take you there.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she says, and she holds on. She doesn’t let go.

  I cover her hand with mine and turn us down another street. “I know,” I say. “But I am.”

  She smiles up at me and I smile down at her, and in these small moments, it would be easy to forget that she’s obviously running for her life and I’m hunting a serial killer that’s killed five women that look just like her. But then the next moment comes, and we’re walking down the street, my senses on alert, waiting for whoever was following us back near her place. And someone was following us.

  “Do you have an actual car?” she asks when we step onto another subway car, standing at a pole together again, and I make damn sure our legs are touching. “Do people have cars here?”

  “I do,” I say. “Though I rarely drive the damn thing.”

  “Is there a garage at your apartment? I see cars stacked on top of each other at random lots.”

  “Those are common and it’s a nightmare to get to your car with any urgency. I live three blocks from Walker Security. The offices have a large garage where I have parking privileges. I leave it there and if I ever need it, it’s usually work related anyway.”

  “What do you drive?”

  “Do you really want to know?” I ask.

  “Of course,” she says. “If it’s a nice car, so what? Your success is a good thing, not a bad thing. It just didn’t match bartending.”

  “It’s a BMW.”

  “What color and make?”

  “Black. M4. What did you drive in Denver?”

  “A BMW. Also black. 3 series.”

  “You had money.”

  “A 3 isn’t that fancy, but yes. I did.”

  “And now you have nothing,” I observe.

  “I have my freedom,” she says, despite the fact that she’s running, which tells me once again, this is a man she’s running from. Someone like my father. Someone powerful that she doesn’t yet know I can take on and beat. But she will and soon.

  Our train arrives at the stop and we exit together, and I am quick to place her hand back on my arm, because yeah, I want to touch her. I want her to touch me. But I also want her to feel that she isn’t alone. That she can walk the streets and not look over her shoulder, because I will hurt anyone who tries to hurt her.

  We walk a few blocks and reach our destination, which turns out to be a thrift store. She smiles up at me. “Now you’re going to wish you wouldn’t have come along. You have to wait for me to shop.”

  “I’ll go find the ‘guy’ chair I’m told exists in all stores,” I say. “Or so the Walker brothers tell me.”

  She laughs and starts shopping while I hunt down that chair that I find in the corner. Sierra starts looking through racks of clothes, and fuck, it kills me not to just take her to a real store, but I watch her, I see the way her eyes light up as she picks her items. That thousand dollars in tip money made a difference for her. She can shop and pay her own way and she’s basically told me she is running from a man with money who controlled her. Taking care of her is a slippery slope. Lord only knows I’ve watched the Walker men try to manage a balance with their women, and they didn’t have the circumstances I’m experiencing with Sierra. And fuck, again. I’m thinking of her as my woman and I just met her. I’m also sitting in a chair in a store while a woman shops. I’ve never done this shit. I’ve never been willing, but I am now. I will do anything to be close to this woman and keep her safe.

  She appears in front of me with two handled bags and a smile on her beautiful face. “I’m ready. Your torture is complete.”

  I stand up, thinking about that protection I just vowed. “I assume you didn’t use your real social at the bar?”

  Her smile fades. “I told them I’d work for tips only.”

  “Which was smart, but it also tells the dickhead manager of that place that you’re hiding from something. It makes you vulnerable.”

  “I know that,” she says. “But I had no choice.”

  I slide my hand under her hair. “You have me now.”

  “No,” she says. “I don’t. Don’t say—”

  I kiss her, God I kiss her right here in the back corner of a store between racks of clothes. I drink this woman in, and press my tongue to hers, with the slow, savoring of her taste that I have hungered for again, every moment, since I last kissed her. “You have me now,” I repeat.

  “That was unfair,” she whispers breathlessly. “My hands are full.”

  “Feel free to drop the bags and touch me, sweetheart. I won’t complain.”

  And she does. She drops the bags and her arms wrap around me and her mouth closes over mine, and I can taste her urgency, her fear that I am going to erase. She arches into me, and I can feel a dark seed of need and torment in her. A push and pull that is a warning before she shoves against my chest. “I can’t do this,” she whispers, her fingers curling around my shirt. “Don’t you understand? We can’t do this. He will kill you.”

  “Whoever he is, whatever he said he’d
do to you —”

  “My husband. He’s my husband and I can’t ever change that.”

  I feel that announcement like a punch in the chest, but when she tries to pull away, I reject her withdrawal and I feel none of my own. I hold onto her, damn glad we’ve managed to remain alone in this corner of the store.

  “He’s not your husband. He’s the man you’re running from and I feel no guilt over kissing you. And you shouldn’t, either. Tell me who he is and I’ll make this go away.”

  “He will kill you.”

  “Ex-SEAL, sweetheart. I promise you that I’ve faced much nastier people than this man, and I am not afraid.”

  “He is far more powerful than you are dangerous.”

  “You underestimate me and Walker Security. You’re smart. Be smart now and let me help.”

  “I am smart. That’s how I’ve stayed alive for nine months. I’m also smart enough to keep your over-confident macho ass, who thinks he can save the world and me, alive, too. Which means we are no longer friends.”

  She tries to pull away. I kiss her again. She tries to resist, but in a hot minute she’s melting into me, but fuck, she’s kissing me like it’s goodbye. “Stop doing that,” she whispers when I pull back.

  “We’re not saying goodbye.”

  “I just did and I’m sorry. I never should have dragged you into my hell.”

  The store attendant clears her throat and I’m forced to release Sierra, who grabs her bags and starts walking. I’m on her heels in an instant and following her out of the store. The minute we’re clear of the door, I take one of her bags and slide my arm around her waist. “He doesn’t get to win.”

  “He always wins.”

  “Not this time.”

  We head down the subway steps, a rush of people suffocating us, but I don’t let her go. I hold her close, and when we are finally in a subway car, at another pole facing each other, there is a crush of people around us, pushing against us. I cup her face and press my cheek to hers. Her hand presses to my chest. “I won’t let him have you.”

  Her fingers curl around my shirt, holding onto me, not pushing me away, but she won’t look at me. And that’s fine. We need to handle this alone. Scream. Fight. Fuck. Whatever it takes. Yeah. Fuck. We need to fuck and just get past that wall. The wall she’s put up between us because of this bastard I am going to destroy.