Page 61 of Hemlock

"Goodbye," I snap, taking a step back and slamming the door.

I lock it, but honestly, I know it wouldn't stop him from getting inside like he has done in the past.

My tears turn to sobs as my body slowly drifts toward the sofa. I'll get over him. I know I will. I just worry that it may not be in this lifetime or the next.

Chapter 31

Hemlock

The itch to hurt, maim, and kill sticks to me like tar on my way back to the house.

I convinced myself that the entire reason I drove right to her house the second those handcuffs were off was to tell her that Tommy was in police custody, arrested for running a prostitution ring, but those words didn't even make it past my lips.

The sight of the U-Haul threw me for a loop, and I was reeling when I finally stepped onto her porch.

I wanted to beg her to stay, to let me protect her as best as I could manage, but I knew I couldn't promise her safety. I couldn't be with her every single second of every day, and that's what it would take to safeguard her against anything in life that may cause her harm.

Jericho wasn't at the raid tonight because, like me, he needs to stay undercover, but the sight of his bike in the driveway when I pull up means he'll be inside, right along with that fucker Jersey.

I didn't ask questions about the man, but he climbed out of that cop car and strode toward the house like he owned the motherfucker, making my irritation grow with being out of the fucking loop.

I kick the stand out on my bike, considering just leaving, getting away for a few days, but I know the longer I go without an assignment, the worse it's going to be for anyone that gets near me.

I need something to focus on other than the woman with the U-Haul who will no doubt be gone by morning.

Laughter comes from the kitchen when I step inside but bypassing the area and going straight up to my room without at least showing my face seems like a weakness, so I arrow in that direction.

Jericho has a smile on his scarred face, and it grows wider when he watches me step into the room.

I eye Jersey who is leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer in his hand.

He no longer looks like the forlorn soon-to-be-divorced man he was in the bar. It's clear he's showered and shaved. His clothes are different, having traded his simple button-down and slacks for a retro band tee and jeans, and his loafers for heavy-soled boots.

"Roman Parker," he says with his right hand out as he steps closer to me. "But I go by Jersey."

I look down at the man's hand before glancing over my shoulder at Jericho. "Did you know about this?"

Jericho shakes his head, and Jersey takes a step back, placing his ass back against the counter where he was when I first walked into the room, seeming unaffected by the fact that I won't shake his hand.

"Seems there's been a little crossover between teams," Jersey continues as I make my way to the fridge.

I pull out a bottle of water rather than opening the freezer and going for the bottle of vodka there. Liquor consumption would end with me going right back to her house and forcing her to kiss me like I wanted to earlier. That's the last thing either one of us will ever need.

"Mike, my handler, and Ace seemed to have put us both on the same case without the other knowing. Now there are talks of combining forces."

"Great," I mutter as I pull out a barstool at the end of the bar, keeping myself positioned where I can see both men.

"We've cleared now eight of the eleven places that Nathan Adair had on the list we found, and the consensus seems to be that these places were prime for takeover. He somehow knew of these men and the businesses they were running, and as a man who always wants his enterprise to grow, he had them slotted for acquisition," Jericho explains.

"All prostitution?" I ask.

"No," Jersey interrupts making me want to fly across the room and snap his neck. "I took out one just over the state line in North Carolina that was trafficking drugs."

"Don't you have a wife and kids to get back?" I growl.

Jersey smiles around the lip of his beer bottle, taking a long sip before responding. "All part of the cover. Women love a man who's down on his luck."

"Zara wouldn't touch a married man," I snap in her defense.

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