Page 18 of To Catch A Rook

Gangbangers. Desperate for power, hungry for notoriety, but with shit for brains and tiny-dick syndrome.

Their kind disgusted me, even as I knew from the law’s point of view—the law I spent my day upholding, mostly—I was no different. My actions equally killed innocents, and there was no hope for my redemption.

I rolled my shoulders again and made my way to my vehicle, heading back to my temporary apartment to settle in for the night.

I had a debriefing tomorrow and I wouldn’t be keeping the Director waiting.

“How have we not heard about these guys until now?”

I scanned the reams of paperwork strewn in front of me as Patricia Stanhope, my legitimate boss, leaned against the back of the couch, her weathered face pensive as she considered my question.

The woman was a powerhouse—a relic of an old age of crime-fighting, with a reptilian skin and a brain that moved far quicker than anyone I knew—other than my father. She had been the one to find me all those years ago—the one who saved me from a soulless life.

Ithad come at a cost for both of us.

She tucked wiry silver strands of hair behind her ears before answering—her irritated tell, even though her face remained neutral.

“They’re a careful lot, but incredibly effective,” she mused, picking up one statement from the table to skim its contents.

“We’re talking about huge swindles here—hundreds of millions of dollars in assets from less than ten parties. Artwork, single edition vehicles, drained private accounts… dating back six years. It looks like there’s a heist of some kind every ten months or so, and the perpetrators disappear into the night. No trace of their existence—false identities used, state-of-the-art technology and disguises—it’s the most sophisticated operation I’ve ever seen.”

Knowing her history with the organization, that was saying a lot. Patricia had built a reputation for being a shrewd shark. ‘Trish the Fish’ could smell something fishy from ten miles away, and sniff out the culprit quicker than most at the bureau. Though anyone who wanted to keep their balls wouldn’t dare to utter the unsanctioned nickname to her face.

Anyone except me—but I had somewhat special privileges. That, and the fact that she wouldn’t hesitate to clock me over the head if she felt it was called for—a move HR wouldn’t let her get away for anyone else.

“Trish,” I murmured quietly, my eyes filled with all the things I wouldn’t say out loud. “This is going to take some time. I wasn’t planning on being here as long as this is going to take. I”—I swallowed tightly with the admission—“being in Carlisle isn’t good for me.”

Her steely gray eyes softened, but only a fraction. “I need you here, Kellan. You have your entire team at your disposal. Use them. There are a lot of people breathing down my neck, and God forbid another millionaire loses his favorite trinket. I need this taken care of—quickly. The sooner you solve it, the sooner you can escape this town.”

She tidied the papers in front of me and handed the pile over before turning to put on her suit jacket—a not-so-subtle indication our meeting was over.

“And you can tell your brothers to fuck off and do their own dirty work for a change.”

There were no secrets between us. She had been there since the beginning, so there couldn’t have been. Though I certainly tried. As much as I liked and respected the woman—the only mother figure I’d ever had in my life—I was just as much a pawn to her as I was to Antonio. A weapon to be wielded when the time called for it.

I dipped my head in respect before the staunch woman turned on her heel and left me alone with my thoughts in the makeshift satellite office. It was a nondescript corner suite in one of the many modern high-rises in the downtown core, with just three desk setups and a small couch in its center.

I stood from the cramped couch and stretched my legs. My muscles longed for release; a workout, or a satisfying fuck. After my last run-in with Hillary, I doubted that avenue would be open to me anytime soon.

Hillary Lane reminded me of a younger version of Trish. Fierce and tough, with a tender heart under the spiny shield—if you just knew where to look. Occasionally, she dropped her walls and let me see it, if only during the times I had her stripped bare in front of me, awaiting my instructions.

Images of her naked, tempting body flooded my senses. The swell of her breasts, her plush, pink pussy dripping onto my bed sheets...

The first time I took her to bed was the beginning of my downfall. My cock stiffened to steel at the memories; even thoughI was the only one in the barren space, I discreetly adjusted myself before I put a hole in my pants.

A workout would have to do, then. I grabbed my bag from beside the door, texting my number two—Maverick Rogers—as I went. The more the team could investigate before I had to step in, the better.

Sequoia County might have been home at one time in my life, but now it was nothing but a prison. And wanted men only survived by avoiding their prisons at all costs.

If only I had that luxury.

“Fuuuuuuck.”

The low growl echoed through the shower stall as I filled the sexy muscled ass with my cum. I squeezed the gym rat’s cockhead with firm strokes and his body pressed into mine as his own release spurted onto the marble tiles with a shudder.

The workout I had escaped to wasn’t enough of an outlet. When the hot redhead at the high-end gym I frequented kept running his eyes over me as I pressed three times my body weight, I seized the opportunity for what it was. A fast fuck to release my demons with a man I’d never have to see again.

He turned in my hold, and a lazy smile spread across his full lips. Sticking his hand under the automatic shower gel dispenser, he spread the slick foam over his palms and onto my heavy cock, still semi-stiff from orgasm.

---