Page 39 of Whispered Desire

Only I get to experience Allie.

And damn it feels good.

“Let’s set up a meeting. She might be a useful contact to have in the future if she’s capable of digging up dirt on politicians. It shouldn’t be too difficult to do the same for a CEO or two.”

I don’t like bringing strangers into our business, but widening our network of resources is smart. Journalists usually have a list of confidential informants at their disposal.

Plus, the woman might have cultivated relationships out of our reach due to the indisputable fact that we can be damn intimidating.

Which sparks another idea.

“You should come with us.” I gently jostle Allison.

“What?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I raise a hand to ward off the dissenting opinions. “We’re the Blackchapel Bastards. If Valerie does even a minor internet search into us, it won’t exactly inspire a sense of comfort. Having Allie there might change that and make her willing to share more information.”

Jonah huffs then starts typing out a response on his phone. “I’ll ask for her details.”

“I still haven't agreed to go,” Allie grumbles. Popping the last bite of crust in her mouth, she wipes her fingers on a napkin then asks Jonah, “Who’s your dad?”

She knows the basics about Louis Petit, Enzo D’Amora, and Conrad Steele because of the drive-by and our training, but the rest of our fathers are mysteries.

“Senator Phillip Anderson.”

“Damn…”

That about sums it up.

All of our fathers hold power one way or another outside The Syndicate. Which means, if we want to defeat them, our plans must be meticulous.

So I make damn sure they are.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ALLISON

The men decided it’d be safer to split up and take separate vehicles to the lunch spot for our meeting with the investigative journalist. Hugo and Luca are in a black Suburban ahead of us, while Jonah follows in a pickup truck. That leaves Mathias and I alone in his silver Audi.

“How did you know Tasha wouldn’t be able to continue as my therapist without being licensed in Massachusetts?” I ask from the passenger seat. Since learning of his behind-the-scenes machinations, my curiosity has grown.

I managed to curb my questions because he’s been busy compiling information on his dad, and I’ve been focused on volunteering at Polina’s Place.And enjoying the many Mathias-provided orgasms.

The right time for discussing my therapist never appeared, but now we have time to kill, and I'm desperate to get answers. Especially since Tasha and I have a virtual appointment set for tomorrow morning.

“The medical records Rafe sent listed her licenses and qualifications. When I saw the state mentioned, it made mewonder if therapists worked under similar rules as lawyers where you have to be certified in whatever state you want to practice in,” he explains, flipping on the turn signal to change lanes.

“From there, it was a simple phone call to Dr. Gomez. She tried to dismiss me with a bunch of patient-doctor confidentiality bullshit, but once I impressed upon her the importance of continuing her therapeutic relationship with you—that it was in her patient’s best interests—she agreed to apply for a license to practice in Massachusetts. Usually it takes four to six weeks to finalize, but Rafe pushed it through much sooner.”

“You have a copy of my medical records?” I swear the man has no boundaries.

What was your first clue?When he hacked into your bank account? Or when he commandeered a doctor for a home visit?

At least those results came back without any problems. Another health issue would have been the last straw.

My thirteenth reason, I privately joke.

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