by Kate Kessler
A saint who suddenly looked really, really good to her.
Killian turned on the shower. What she was feeling wasn’t attraction; it was the need for distraction. She wasn’t buying it. Shannon’s life depended on her keeping her shit together and her head on straight. Nookie was not known to bring clarity. And there was nothing saying Dash would give it to her anyway. He’d probably say something about Jason, or friendship, and kiss her on the forehead. Asshole.
She sighed as she stepped under the spray, even as the cut in her leg stung in protest. The water rinsed away the blood and regret. Dash’s soap smelled of sandalwood, which she found calming. His shampoo was similar. Once she felt clean, she turned off the water and grabbed a towel and began drying off. Jesus, a lot of her body already hurt.
There were clothes on the vanity—the tee and boxers she’d asked for. He’d brought them in and left without her even realizing it. She put them on and combed her hair back into a sleek, damp braid, which she tied off with an elastic she found in one of the vanity drawers.
Dash was in the kitchen making herbal tea. A jar of honey and a bandage were on the counter. Killian applied both, respectively, to her thigh as he poured hot water into two cups. He waved her toward the table. “Sit. You look ready to drop.”
“I can’t afford to be this tired. I’ve lost my edge.”
He set a cup in front of her and sat down to her left. “You’ve been going full out all day. The club, Annie’s, and now the bar. You’re not Wonder Woman.”
“Every minute she’s with them is another minute of her paying for my mistakes.”
“You’ll get her back.”
“But how much damage will have been done, huh?” Her voice broke on the last word and she fucking hated it.
Golden-green eyes met hers without even a glint of dishonesty. “You’re going to find her, and she’s going to be okay. Even if it takes a while.”
A shake of her head. “You can’t know that.”
“She’s got your blood in her. I know it.”
Killian turned away. Maybe he was just kissing her ass, but maybe he was right. She survived her stepfather. She survived Brand. She survived prison and all the other things that had happened to her in her thirty-one years of existence. Surviving wasn’t quite the same as living, and she would never willingly choose that kind of life for Shannon, but it had been thrust upon the girl now, just as it had been thrust upon Killian. No consent, no invitation. Just a determination to not let it destroy her completely.
Would it be so bad if Shannon turned out like her? Even just a little? She was a mess, but she was a strong mess. She was still capable of feeling love and happiness. Wasn’t she?
She took a drink of tea and let it rest on her tongue for a bit before swallowing. “What if I get her killed?”
“You won’t.”
He was right, of course. She knew it, but knowing and believing weren’t quite the same thing. At least they weren’t in her mind. “I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. Jesus, I wish I could just call the cops and let them take care of it.”
“That’s not an option,” he reminded her—needlessly. “You know what Wex would do.”
“Yeah.” She wasn’t going to think of that, either. “It’s me he really wants.”
Dash checked his watch. “Rank has to have heard about Annie’s by now.”
Killian drank more tea. “He’s got to be pissed.” And then, because she was calm enough to bring it up: “It’s the thing with Brand I’m worried about. If Wex takes that out on Shannon…”
“He won’t.”
“He let Brand have her.” Just saying it jacked up her temper again. Helplessness wasn’t a feeling she bore well.
“Brand did that on his own. Wex and Rank want you afraid and off-balance, not pissed off and looking for war. They think they have all the power.”
“They do.” She locked her gaze with his. “I’ll do anything for that kid, Dash. That includes lying down and dying if necessary.”
His forehead creased. “You need to cut the drama before it spins out of control.”
“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being fucking honest.”
“Then start lying. To me. To yourself, and to anyone else who will fucking listen. You gotta keep your shit together, Kill.”
Sanctimonious prick. There, she knew some big words, too. She pushed the tea aside. “I need something stronger.”
Dash stood and left the room, only to return a few moments later with a bottle of rum. He got two glasses, tossed in some ice, and poured them each a double.
Killian sighed internally as the alcohol hit her tongue. It was smooth, with a hint of vanilla and spices. Warmth rolled through her stomach, spreading out to her limbs. Yeah, that was what she needed.
“Thanks,” she said.
He nodded and took a drink.
“Where’s your woman?” she asked, jerking her chin in the direction of the living room. “The one in the photos.” She’d seen them earlier when Madallya was there.
A humorless smile curved his mouth, carved a tiny half-moon in his cheek. “I meant to put those away. Just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“She’s gone?” There was no keeping the surprise from her voice.
Another nod as he slouched back in his chair. “Got tired of me being at the shop so much.”
“So why didn’t she hang out there with you?”
He chuckled. “Not too many women want to hang out at a garage, Kill. Nicole didn’t really get cars.”
“She could just hang out—read a damn book. Jesus, if my guy loved something the way you love that ’Vette, I’d be learning about it right quick. I bet you did stuff she liked.”
Grinning, he took another drink. “I took a cooking class with her.”
Killian shook her head. “And she still left? Her loss, man.”
He shrugged. “Turns out I’m a pretty good cook, so it wasn’t a complete wash.” He tossed back the rest of his glass and poured them each another. “You seeing anybody?”
“Not for longer than I need to.” They shared a smile.
“It’s good to have you back,” he said, reaching across the table to take her hand.
She squeezed his fingers. “It’s good to be back. When this is over maybe we can actually take time to catch up.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Then he drained his glass again. “I’m going to grab a shower and head to bed. You need anything?”
She shook her head before stifling a yawn. “I’m good. I think I’ll go to bed, too.”
“You take my bed,” he told her. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”
“Don’t be foolish,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. Her wounded thigh twinged a little, but the pain wasn’t too bad. “You probably got one of them bougie beds that warm up to just the right temperature and sing you to sleep, or something.”
Dash laughed. Then he stood up as well and showed her to the guest room. It was nicer than anything she’d slept in over the last nine years. Her eyes closed the second her head hit the pillow. The sheets were soft flannel, warm and cozy. Her body was so tired and heavy that it didn’t take long for sleep to overtake her. The last thing she heard was Dash’s shower running, then…nothing.
She woke up with a silent shout at four A.M. Her heart beat so fast her ribs hurt. Her breath burned in her clenched throat.
It was just a dream.
It wasn’t the first time she’d relived Jason’s murder in her sleep, but it was the first time that he’d turned into Shannon as he bled out in her arms.
Fuck.
Killian threw back the blankets and slid out of bed. Her legs shook as she tried to stand. Her entire body trembled with emotion as her mind struggled to let go of the horrible images her subconscious had just played out. She slowly made her way to the bathroom, used the toilet, and then splashed some water on her face at the sink.
She didn’t go back to bed. Instead she moved cautiously out of
the room, into the hall, and across to Dash’s room. Her injured leg was stiff, making her slow and awkward. Moonlight cast a shadow of silver across the bed, and she could see the outline of him beneath the blankets. She crawled in on the other side.
“Kill?” he asked groggily as she settled in. “You okay?”
“Bad dream,” she said. “Do you mind?”
He rolled toward her, holding out his arms like he had all those nights after Jason died. How many nights had he consoled her and held her while she cried herself to sleep? She wasn’t crying now, and a part of her was all too aware that they weren’t kids anymore, but she wanted the comfort. Needed the comfort.
So she put her back against his chest and held his arm over her stomach. The heat of him seeped through her skin, dispersing the chill that had settled deep in her bones. Killian closed her eyes. Wetness pooled on her lashes, hot and salty.
She was asleep before she could even wipe it away.
Eight
Since getting the news that Killian had been released from prison, Rank slept with a Glock beside his bed. When he woke up panting and drenched in sweat from a nightmare at four A.M., the gun was in his hand.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. His fingers shook as he set the Glock on the bedside table. What if he’d pulled the damn trigger? Dakwon would have to scoop his brains off the pillow in the morning. What was that damn buzzing sound?
His phone. The screen was lit up. Wex’s name in big letters.
He took a deep breath in the dark to calm the pounding in his chest, then picked up the phone. “What?”
“She burned down Annie’s.”
No need to ask who the fuck she was. “We lose anyone?”
“Few of the girls took off.”
Girls were replaceable. “So what’s the problem? The place was a death trap.” Jesus, he ought to thank her. One of his companies owned that property, and the insurance was worth more than the building.
“She also beat the crap out of Brand.”
Rank’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?” He kept his voice calm. “How bad?” Brand was one of the ones who laughed at him behind his back; he knew it. Asshole wouldn’t be laughing now, would he? Welcome to the fucking club.
“Dunno. She and Clark dragged him out and he ain’t been seen since.”
Interesting. “Why would she be interested in Brand?”
More silence. “He was braggin’ about banging the girl.”
Rank closed his eyes. He was surrounded by idiots. “I thought I told you not to let anyone touch her.”
“Brand missed the memo.”
Brand might very well be dead if Killian had stepped up her game. Rank wouldn’t blame her for killing the degenerate. He’d never liked Brand, so he wouldn’t mourn his loss.
“How much damage did he do to the girl?”
“She’s probably walking a little funny, but she’ll be fine.” Wex’s tone revealed just how little seriousness he gave the entire situation.
“What do you suppose Killian has done to him, Wex?”
“Probably smacked him around a bit.”
“What do you think she’s going to do to you?”
He snorted. “She’s not coming after me.”
“You sure about that? You and Brand killed her boyfriend.”
“On your orders.”
“Yeah, and look how that turned out for me. Now Brand’s missing. If you think you’re not on her list, you’re fucking dumber than you look.”
Wex was silent in just the way Rank liked—contemplation.
“You promised me protection.”
“Keep fucking up and I’m going to change my mind.” It was nice knowing Wex was afraid of her, even just a bit. “Move the girl.”
“What?”
Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Killian’s going to hit your clubhouse next.”
“She’d be fucking nuts to come after the MC.” So much bravado in his tone. So much disbelief. It was like everything Rank told him went in one ear and out the other.
“Did I ask for your fucking opinion?” Rank sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. He was awake now. “I said move the girl.”
“All right. All right. Don’t get your balls in a bunch.”
Rank sighed. “And if she doesn’t kill Brand, you’re going to.”
“Come on—”
“No negotiation.”
“Fine.” Wex’s tone was sullen as a child’s. “Whatever.”
Jesus Christ, he was going to have to hit the bastard harder next time. Or just kill him when this was done. “I’m beginning to regret bringing you in on this.”
“Hey. I want her gone as much as you do.”
Standing, Rank limped toward the dresser where he kept his pills. A couple of Percs would put him back to sleep despite his foul temper and aching leg. He opened the bottle and dumped two pills into his palm. “No one wants her gone as much as I do, asshole. No one.”
“Fine. Where do you want me to put the kid?”
It had to be somewhere Killian wouldn’t think of—at least not right away. He wanted to drag out her suffering. It also had to be a place he knew was secure. A place where if Killian showed up either she—or he—wouldn’t walk out alive.
He dry-swallowed the pills. “Bring her here.”
Killian woke up to the smell of breakfast cooking. Bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee. Her stomach growled as her eyelids dragged themselves open.
She was alone in the bed, the blankets pulled up under her chin. With a yawn, she stretched, wincing when the wound in her thigh pulled with the movement. It didn’t hurt too badly, so she’d just be thankful and hope the stitches held up when trouble came calling.
And it would come—if she didn’t find it first. Thoughts of Shannon flooded her mind. Fear threatened to overwhelm her, but she refused to let it. For her own sanity she had to believe that Shannon was going to be okay, no matter what. She had to believe she would find the girl and bring her home. There wasn’t any alternative she was willing to entertain.
Throwing back the blankets, she slipped out of bed. The room was cool, so she grabbed the bathrobe off the back of the door and slipped it on before padding out toward the kitchen and the delicious aromas that beckoned.
Dash, in a T-shirt and sweatpants as he stood at the stove, cast a glance in her direction as she entered. “Nice robe.”
“This old thing? I just threw it on.”
He smiled at her lame attempt at humor. It was all she could muster given the circumstances. “Hungry?”
“Always. Can I help?”
“It’s all ready. Just sit.”
She did, switching on her phone to check for messages as she settled into the chair. “Shit,” she said when she saw the screen.
“What?”
She massaged her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “My parole officer wants me to come in early.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Yeah. I wanted to stake out the SOB clubhouse.”
He waved the spatula at her. “Half of them are heading up to Boston this afternoon. Some powwow with the Angels up there.”
She stared at him. “How the hell do you know that?”
He gave her a slow grin. “Not much that goes on in this state I don’t know, darlin’.”
Killian rolled her eyes, but in all honesty she was impressed. This new life of his was definitely a step up from the old. “You got a crew put together, too?”
“That’s up to you, but Danny and a few of the Crows have said they’re in if you want them.”
Of course she did. She shook her head. “I don’t want their blood on my hands.”
He made a face. “Fuck off. This is as much their fight as yours.”
Her brows rose, along with her temper. “The hell it is.” This was all about her and Rank.
Their gazes locked and held. “It is,” he insisted. “Jason was one of theirs before he was yours.”
Killian looked away,
because the words stung. “It’s not about Jason.”
“It sure as shit is. Everything you’ve ever done has been about him.”
That made her look up—that bite to his tone. She frowned. “I loved him.”
Dash looked as though he wanted to say something, but he remained silent. It was obvious from his tightened features that the words lay bitter on his tongue. He nodded. “We all did.”
“I don’t want to fight, D. Not with you.”
He came to the table carrying two plates and set one in front of her. “Then stop talking and eat.”
She watched him walk away, going to grab two mugs and the coffee. God, the food smelled so good. Looked so good. She wasn’t much of a cook, didn’t have the patience for it. The intuition. Her mother had been an incredible cook—Megan, too.
Could Shannon cook? Or did she take after her and render almost everything a barely edible mess? “Thank you,” she said. There might be tension between them, but that was no excuse for bad manners.
“You’re welcome.” He set the coffeepot on the trivet between them. “After breakfast I have to go to the shop for a bit. I need to do some work before we visit our old friends.”
“D, you gotta step away from this while you can. I don’t want to mess up what you’ve got going on.”
“What do I have going on?”
She shrugged. “You’re practically legit.”
His brow furrowed. “I work for the same people who employ Story. What the hell makes you think any of that is legit? It’s just higher up the food chain and better protected.”
“Protected?”
Dash cut into his eggs with his fork. “We’ve got friends in law enforcement. The people I work for aren’t necessarily bad news. They’re more about leveling the playing field.”
She really didn’t care. As long as he was good, she didn’t care what he did, or who he did it for. As long as he stayed alive, that was all that mattered, because she really didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t have him. Probably she should tell him that, but she couldn’t make the words come out of her mouth. She took a drink of coffee instead.