Forbidden by Blake Pierce

Author:Blake Pierce [Pierce, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blake Pierce
Published: 2024-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Morgan's muscles tensed, the mechanical click of a gun's hammer setting into place slicing through the thumping bass from below. At the top of the stairs, she and Derik met the steely gaze of a man who seemed to have stepped out of a shadowy mythos, his visage a canvas of ink and contorted flesh—horn implants jutting from his forehead like a creature from an arcane ritual. The gun in his hand was unwavering, its intent clear and lethal. Behind him, Davy's eyes were wide with panic, his presence dwarfed by the stature of the heavily tattooed figure.

"Rog," Morgan deduced instantly, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She held up her badge, ensuring it caught the dim light trickling in from the stairwell. "FBI. Lower the weapon. This doesn't need to go any further."

Her words hung between them, a fragile bridge over an abyss of potential violence. Derik remained silent beside her, his body coiled tight, ready for whatever might come. Morgan knew the importance of maintaining control, her past hardships having honed her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of human confrontation. Her dark eyes locked onto Rog's, conveying a calm authority that belied the chaos of the situation.

"Nobody needs to get hurt," she continued, her tone even but firm. "We're here on official business. Let's talk this out."

The standoff lingered, a palpable force in the cramped space at the club's apex. Rog's eyes scrutinized them, searching for deceit or weakness, but Morgan offered none. She stood her ground, her resolve as unyielding as the tattoos that marked her own journey through darkness and back into the light. Rog's grip on the gun loosened incrementally, the threat not gone but diminished under the weight of her assurance.

"Talking," Rog finally grunted, the word rough-edged but not entirely dismissive.

Morgan's heart hammered in her chest as Rog's hand, decorated with inked symbols, hesitated above the trigger. Time stretched, each second a standoff between life and death. Then, slowly, the barrel of Rog's gun dipped downward, his distrustful gaze never leaving Morgan's face. She could almost feel Derik tensing beside her, ready to spring into action if needed.

"Elizabeth," Rog said, the name carrying a weight of confusion. "You're saying she didn't just fall? That it was murder?"

"Exactly," Morgan replied, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. "Her death wasn't an accident. It's part of something bigger, a series of events we're piecing together."

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, laden with the gravity of the revelation. The tattoos on Rog's face seemed to shift with his changing expression, a mask that couldn't quite hide the flicker of genuine surprise—or was it realization?—in his eyes.

Rog's grip relaxed fully, his weapon now pointed harmlessly at the ground. But as the threat waned, Derik's hand moved instinctively towards his own concealed firearm. His movements were swift, a testament to years of training and countless encounters just like this one.

"Derik," Morgan said sharply, her voice low but commanding.

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