Page 43 of Compelled Obedience

All I could do was nod.

“Who is he?”

“An angel.” Maybe that’s the way I needed to think of Grant, as a guardian angel. He’d not only taken interest in the kids but also in me. Then he’d donned an invisible cape just before saving my life. Now this. I wasn’t used to anyone providing a single level of kindness without wanting something in return.

I moved toward the window, peering down at the street. There he was, standing under the streetlight looking up at my window. I had no idea how he’d gotten into the building but at this point, I didn’t care. I stood staring at him, wondering if he could see me. The crackle of electricity from before shot to the surface again. I leaned against the heated surface, dragging my nails down the glass. If only I could allow him inside.

“Hey, Kerri. You won’t believe what he bought.”

I turned my head toward the kitchen, trying to keep from crying as she presented item after item.

“There are steaks and chicken, pork chops and vegetables. Salad stuff too and all kinds of pasta and sauces. Cheese. And ice cream. And wine. My God, three bottles of expensive wine. Where can I find someone like this?”

How strange a hint of jealousy rushed into my system.

What he’d done was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

He was everything I’d ever wanted and nothing I could keep.

No matter what he’d told me.

CHAPTER 12

Grant

I glared at Silas Young’s application and frowned. Leaning back in my chair, I brought my bourbon to my lips, contemplating what I wanted to say to him. He’d yet to bother me about my decision, which I found interesting given his eagerness to join. Maybe because he was busy making news, including rounding up various low-level players within the cartel. A part of me had almost reached out, providing information about Sanchez, but I sensed Kerri would never forgive me.

Oddly enough I’d also contacted the superintendent of the inner-city school system, initiating a conversation about allowing Harry Carver High to have an end of the year concert. What the hell was I doing? I tossed Silas’ application, placing my head back on the chair and closing my eyes.

I wasn’t entirely certain why I continued to hesitate to welcome the prosecutor as a new member. He had a hefty bank account, came from an extremely influential family, and had never abused a woman before. I’d checked everything. There was nothing glaring in his application that should keep me from grabbing my old-fashioned rubber stamp and slapping approval on it.

Except my instinct.

The fact he was crusading against the LA Cartel, a dangerous group of motherfuckers operating out of LA, should appeal to me. Especially after Kerri’s attack. I’d seen the damn crude art on Sanchez’s neck, only recently put there. What did the kid think he was going to accomplish by getting involved with the bloodthirsty predators?

They were largely responsible for manufacturing and importing fentanyl for distribution in the US. Admirable but dangerous, a hit likely placed on Silas’ life from the moment he’d stepped in front of the cameras two weeks before announcing his crusade. The Justice Department had been fighting bringing charges against them for years, most of the witnesses disappearing or being shipped to the main headquarters in several boxes.

The last thing I wanted was to bring any real acts of violence to the club.

And I’d all but printed an invitation in gold bar.

When my phone rang, I took a deep breath seeing the name of the caller. A buddy I’d gone to grad school with had started his career in the FBI, moving up the ladder to being in charge of the LA Justice Department. Oddly enough, I only planned on casually mentioning Silas. The information I was after had everything to do with Kerri.

“Hey, Tristen. Thanks for returning my call.” I took a sip of my drink, planting my feet on the desk.

“You never give me much choice, my man,” he said, laughing. “I believe your exact words were ‘call me or I’ll revoke your club membership.’”

Huffing, I couldn’t help but grin. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

“Is that what you call it?” We laughed for a few seconds before he turned serious. “I got your message and did some investigation.”

“Cartel?”

“Yeah. They differentiate between their soldiers now. The tat you described is low level at best and I’ll venture a guess you’re right, the kid is new. I’ll check his record if you find me the kid’s last name.”

“Not yet. But he’s likely to handle street sales and warnings.”

Tristen snorted. “Ju got it, ma man.” While the man was a good guy, a lot of fun to be with, his acting skills left a lot to be desired, especially when trying to re-create a famous line from Miami Vice.

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