Alarm splintered up Drake’s spine. Silas’s words were laced with conviction, and he was one of the most suspicious bastards Drake had ever met in his life. And he wasn’t the only one. If Silas were the only one charging to Evangeline’s defense, he could blow it off. But every single one of his men?
He was gutted and racked with indecision, something he wasn’t accustomed to feeling. He was decisive in all matters, never questioning his actions, and yet everything about this whole thing felt wrong. He sank down into his chair, grief consuming him for all he’d had, and lost, just three short days—a lifetime—ago.
Even if Evangeline had betrayed him, could he really blame her? The cops had filled her head with God only knew what kind of shit, and he was sure they’d spared no detail, even embellishing his sins—while he’d been closed-mouthed, refusing to give her anything, to trust her, instead asking her to ignore it and look the other way. She would have imagined all manner of horrific crimes, aided by his own secrecy and the fact that he dodged the issue at every turn.
Being someone who stood in the light, standing for what was right, Evangeline might not have been able, in good conscience, to allow Drake to go unpunished for his deeds. And wasn’t her innate goodness, her sweetness, what he adored most about her? What had drawn her to him in the first place? And now he was punishing her for those very qualities.
Silas swore viciously. “Jesus Christ, Drake. You’re fucking miserable. She’s fucking miserable. Why the hell are you doing this to both of you? Is it pride? Because if so, I’m calling bullshit right now. Evangeline sure as hell didn’t let pride stop her when she was on her knees begging you to believe in her.”
Every word was like a poisoned dart aimed with precision and accuracy. His lips parted, the question hovering on his lips, begging to be asked, to be set free. He could feel his will crumbling, his pride preparing to take a beating.
“Do you really think she had nothing to do with it?” Drake asked, for the first time allowing doubt to creep into his voice.
Before Silas could respond, his doors burst open and his men swarmed in, their expressions thunderous. Fury coiled, whipping and snapping like an electrical charge surging through the air.
“Not now, goddamn it!” Drake roared, unleashing his pent-up rage and sense of helplessness at them. “Get the fuck out of my office and don’t return until I’ve damn well called for you.”
Not now. Not when he needed answers from Silas. Cold logic, unimpeded by emotion. He looked to Silas for understanding and backup, but he got neither from his enforcer.
A man—Hatcher?—was shoved forward, causing him to stumble and fall to his knees. He had a bruise already forming around one eye, his lips were split and bloody and his nose looked like it had been pulverized.
“Here is your traitor,” Maddox said icily, his voice filled with loathing, his eyes flashing with anger. “Not Evangeline. It was never Evangeline. We all knew it,” he said, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the others. “Never doubted her, even for a second. Why can’t you, her dominant, the man she trusted without reservation and loved in spite of your sins, the man she was going to marry, say the same?”
Drake’s eyes narrowed and a loud roar began in his ears. His heart was hammering in his chest with enough force to make him light-headed.
“Someone mind telling me what the fuck is going on here? Why is Hatcher on the floor of my office being called a traitor?”
Justice looked at Drake in disgust, a look that was shared by Thane, Maddox, Hartley, Zander, Jax and Silas. “You question whether he’s guilty, one of your men, someone you employ, and yet you played judge and jury and hung the woman who loves you out to dry, refusing to hear any explanation or defense whatsoever. What the fuck is wrong with you, man?”
“Quit fucking around and just tell me what the hell is going on!” Drake exploded.
“Hatcher was the informant,” Thane said coldly. “He was with us the day we took Evangeline to lunch, remember? Consequently, he was also the one to call and tell you that Evangeline was talking to a cop in a hush-hush manner. Interesting coincidence, don’t you think? He set the entire thing up. He fed Evangeline to the wolves, and when she basically spit in the cop’s face and refused to give him shit on you, then they went with plan B.”
Drake’s stomach was churning violently. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he wiped his palms on his pants repeatedly. Oh dear God. What had he done, what had he done?
“Plan B,” Zander drawled, “was for Hatcher to continue feeding the cops intel while setting up a sting operation so they could implicate Evangeline in order for Hatcher to be able to continue feeding them information without suspicion. Tell me, Drake. Assholes or not, dirty or clean, how many cops would have fingered an informant like that in a fucking raid? And leave her to certain death with the people she betrayed? Jesus Christ, man, use your goddamn brain. That whole night stunk to high heaven and you were the only one who didn’t see it.”