Page 12 of Dangerously Deceptive

Shouting to get his attention, once I know he can see where my hand is, and that he has stopped moving, I speak to him more calmly. “I am not afraid to press this button and let everyone see the kind of man you are. Don't even think about testing me on that one. Now, why don’t you tell Shay why you are here, and let’s get this done like civilised fucking adults. I know a part of you came to see how she is, but we both know the only reason you have been given permission to visit Shayla is because you are doing the Reapers’ bidding. So, have a seat and let's get it sorted, shall we?”

I don’t take my eyes off him until I can see his anger and his ego has retreated enough. He grabs the seat, placing it back where it was, and flops down into it in a huff. He looks like a deflated balloon. Like all the fight he had in him has left, leaving behind a sad, pathetic-looking shell. I wait a few more seconds, watching as he takes slow breaths and stabilises himself, before I move my hand away from the emergency buzzer. Only then do I finally look at Shayla. Her hands are rubbing around her neck, which has turned a slight red colour, and she has tears streaming down her face. Not giving a shit about what Jamieson thinks, as I sit down, I pull one of her hands away from her neck and clasp hold of it.

I hear a sharp intake of breath from both Shayla and Jamieson, but I ignore them both. Shayla grips onto my hand like it's the lifeline she is desperately clinging to, squeezing it as though she is trying to reassure herself that I’m here and not going anywhere.

“Why are you here?” I ask Jamieson, and Shayla raises her tear-stained face, staring at him, waiting for his reply.

“We know the Gardai were here. Pres just wants to make sure that you don't talk.” Each word sounds like it is said through gritted teeth, and I don’t know if he is frustrated by the fact that I’m touching Shayla, or he’s embarrassed he has to actually ask the question.

“I would never talk,” Shayla whispers, her voice sounding raspy because of her tears. She almost sounds wishful, like she wishes maybe she does have the strength to hand them in. “But they are coming back. They say they have multiple DNA samples that were collected while I was unconscious. Apparently I have no say in things. They knew I was assaulted, due to the level of the injuries, and therefore they didn’t need my permission to collect the samples. Although, I did give permission to let them examine me to make sure I was okay, I didn’t know that meant I consented to the samples.”

She looks at him, and it almost feels like she is trying to tell him something with her eyes. At first he just looks confused, like he is doing a complex equation in his head. But, when he finally works out her meaning, all the colour drains from his face and he looks scared. His DNA must be one of the ones they collected, I can’t think what else she might be saying. I hate feeling like the odd one out in the room.

“We’ll take care of that. Just make sure when they do visit you again, that you don’t say a word.” The threat is there in the words he speaks, but not in his tone. He doesn’t sound menacing, he sounds almost like he is reading from a script.

“Okay,” Shayla agrees, mumbling with her eyes downcast.

I decide to capitalise on the situation, and hope like hell I don’t get my ass kicked. “The Gardai will keep coming. They know Shayla is connected to the Reapers. Maybe, it would be a good idea if she kept her distance from the compound for a while. Not only will it be good in case anyone is watching, it will be good for her to heal in a better environment. Plus, we are only going to get one shot at this job, and that means I need Shayla to be in top form. I am not risking my life to help her if I don’t think she can get away with it. It’s a suicide plot. So, maybe it would be better if she stayed away just until the job is over. The heat from this will have cooled down, and we can get the job done properly. They may not want Shayla to succeed because they will have to give her the freedom she craves, but we both know they want whatever is on that drive. I can get it for them. But this is my compromise,” I explain calmly.

Risking a glance over at Shayla, I expected to see the worry there, but there’s another emotion that’s a little bit harder to place. She is looking at me, her head tilted, like she isn’t quite sure what she is seeing, or hearing, in this case. There looks to be the ghost of a smile on her lips, but it doesn’t quite reach the edges. As she looks over at Jamieson, her body tense, we both await his decision.

With a huff, and an almost defeated look, he pulls out his phone before holding it up to his ear. “Hey, Boss. Yeah, I’m here now.” Jamieson pauses, clearly allowing the person on the other end of the phone to speak. He looks between us, his gaze flitting between sadness with Shayla, and a death stare with me. “She hasn’t said anything to the filth, Boss. We do have a situation that needs clearing up, but I will give my full report to Church, if we can call one for this evening. As for Shayla, she will need to keep some distance from us until the heat simmers down. We don’t need eyes on us, or her, while she is prepping for the job. She knows how important getting the memory stick is, and won’t let us down. I can update everyone properly and we can vote at Church if you think it is necessary, but I don’t think Shayla should come back to the compound until she has succeeded. Obviously we will keep a close eye on her, with full updates, and she won’t try anything funny.”

I look between Jamieson and Shayla, and I’m sure it's not hard to see how shocked I am. I’m sure my mouth is actually hanging open. I never expected this guy to do the right thing.

As he is listening to the response of the person on the end of the phone, occasionally he winces as though he is being shouted at or hearing something he didn’t particularly want to hear. Then suddenly, his face twists as though he is in pain and he takes the phone from his ear. Instead of putting it away, he clicks a button and the loudspeaker turns on.

“Shay, the Pres wants to talk to you.”

“So, Whiskey tells me that we need to put some distance between you and us. Just until the heat dies down and the Gardai stop sniffing around. You better not have told them anything, bitch,” he snarls, and the pause tells us all he is waiting for a reply, even though he never really asked a question.

“Yes, Sir. She told me that when I was admitted unconscious, swabs were taken as a protocol and they identified a few different strands of DNA. I said I knew nothing, and the nurse made them leave. But as she was leaving she said she would be back to talk about my connection to the Reapers. I promise, I said nothing.” The fear echoes in every word she says. As she spoke, it sounded like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, terrified that any minute now, he was going to push her off it. It’s no wonder her free hand is shaking and she is bobbing one of her knees up and down like she has just downed three energy drinks. Anxiety ripples through her, and all I want to do is hug her.

“Of course you fucking won’t say anything. You’re Daddy’s good girl, aren’t you, bitch?” he replies smugly. Every time he speaks to her like that, I want to hit him repeatedly, preferably with a very large stick.

“Yes, always,” Shay replies, sounding like a robot.

Looking over at Jamieson, I can see he looks equally as disgusted by the way this guy talks to his daughter, yet he is nowhere closer to stopping it than I am.

“I will grant you permission to stay in a motel room for no more than one month. That should be sufficient time for heat to die down and for you to complete your task. My sources tell me that he looks to be getting things ready for a visit. Best guess would be two weeks. Remember, if you fuck this up, not only is your ass ours, but you will be stuck with us forever. Then I get to punish you for failing this mission. However, as much as that sounds like the best option for me, and I’m sure Whiskey feels the same way since he’s been desperate to marry you for a while, this memory card is vital to our survival as an MC. If you succeed, I will do you a favour. I will half the notice period. Anyone who leaves the MC voluntarily must stay for an agreed notice period. When we voted on your leaving task, we agreed to a month, that is what you signed for in the agreement. But, I will do you a favour and half that to two weeks. But only if you get the flash drive to me in the next month. What do you say, bitch? Sound like a good gesture?” he asks, and I look over at both Jamieson and Shayla, who both wear confused expressions.

“I don’t get my freedom straight away?” Shay mumbles, a tear escaping her eye. I’m not sure if she is talking to anyone in particular but her pathetic excuse for a father answers with an even chuckle.

“Did you not read the small print, you dumb cunt? You should always double-check the terms and conditions. Now, if you want me to take back all the nice th—”

Shay cuts him off, her words stumbling out to stop whatever he is going to say. “No, I'm grateful and I will take your kindness. Thank you. I will get you the memory stick, and of course I will always honour the MC’s terms.”

“Fine, then you can stay, but I have conditions. You must return, undercover if necessary, every Friday night at ten, and every Sunday at lunchtime for family dinner. Do you agree?”

Shayla doesn’t even hesitate in responding. Even though she looks upset, and has more tears falling now, we both know that this is the best she is going to get. Having to endure them for a couple of hours twice a week is much better than seven days a week. So, naturally, she agrees. The President doesn’t even acknowledge her thanks, he just informs Jamieson that he will be expected at Church at seven tonight, then he hangs up.

It feels as though all the air has been sucked out of the room, and you could cut the tension with a knife. We are all silent except for the gentle sobs coming from the girl cuddled up into a ball on the bed.

Looking over at Jamieson, he looks like he is about to approach live ammunition and he isn’t really sure what to do. I don’t blame him, crying women scare the shit out of me. He should be extra scared because crying women who are mad at you is a whole other ball game.

“Look, Shay, I’m gonna go. You can stay in the same motel as him, but don’t even think about trying to stay in his room. They will have people watching. This is not a holiday. You are lying low from the police. Give me a call when you are leaving the hospital and I can get you sorted. Do not forget any of the promises you made to your dad. Understand?” he asks, and he stands and goes to walk out of the door. He looks back and Shayla gives him a small smile. It’s obvious he wants more, but he can’t get it from her right now. Instead, he throws his gaze my way.

Staring at me intently, and with a voice that is barely above a whisper, he makes me reconsider how much of a bastard he might actually be. “Look after her, please.” Before I get a chance to answer he leaves, slamming the door to the hospital room as he goes. Leaving me and Shayla looking at each other, not quite believing how things have worked out.

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