by Kate Kessler
“Seriously?” There was the sound of a bullet hitting metal very close to where he was. Killian’s heart lurched at the sound.
“Shit. It’s just me, Danny, and Arlo out here, and they knew exactly what they were walking into. Can you get to the street behind the house?”
She should have known he wouldn’t risk more than he had to. He probably would have shown up by himself if Danny and Arlo hadn’t decided to come with him. “Yeah. What about you?”
“Just get there. We’ll be there.” He hung up.
Killian shoved the phone back into her pocket. By making her go through the back he was keeping her out of the line of fire, which she appreciated. She turned and limped toward the fence she’d crawled through not even thirty minutes earlier.
The trap house backyard was empty. Everyone knew to get the hell inside when bullets started flying, even junkies. It made her an easy target out there, all alone. Swearing, she clamped her hand to her thigh to slow the loss of blood and moved as fast as she could toward the narrow track between the houses.
Pop. Dirt exploded just a foot or so away from her. She jerked in surprise, heart rate spiking. Another bang and this time she felt the tail breeze of it ruffle her hair. She started running. She practically fell into the dirty alley. Somehow, she managed to keep from hitting the ground. Her leg hurt like hell and was bleeding like a strung-up pig. Panting, she pulled the drawstring from her hood and tied it as tight as she could above the wound in her leg. Then she pulled the 9mm from the shoulder holster Dash made her wear and held it in front of her as she pressed her back against the peeling, grimy siding of the house. Her heart echoed in her throat as she inched toward the front, every nerve in her body on high alert.
Behind her the gunplay at the clubhouse had slowed. She heard the roar of engines and offered up a silent prayer that her friends were unhurt. Inside the house she heard feet—several sets—pounding down the stairs. The Sons had set up sentries in the fucking trap house.
Killian cursed herself for not being smart enough to have seen this coming. It had been too easy right from the get-go. They might let her reach the front of the house, but there was no fucking way she was going to make it to the street. She was a decent shot, but one gun wasn’t much use against three or four.
“Think,” she whispered as sweat ran down the side of her face.
The sound of motorcycles grew closer. Her cavalry approached. They would be easy targets as well, for the assholes watching from the front porch.
She exhaled and cracked her neck. Then she moved as fast as she could to the exit of the path, pivoting on her good leg. She didn’t hesitate when they came out the front door onto the porch. The moment one of them pointed his gun at her, she fired, catching him in the shoulder. She’d been aiming for his chest, but it didn’t matter—he dropped his gun.
Another turned and she shot him as well. She barely dodged the third’s return fire. She had to drop to her stomach beside the doorstep, then flip onto her back. At the first peek over the side of the railing she shot again. This time, she got her intended target.
She’d never shot anyone in the head before. For a second their gazes had locked and she was right back there on that blood-soaked lawn, watching Jason die. All she could do was lie there, gasping for breath.
“Killy!” Dash’s voice cut through the fog in her head. The boys were there. They were alive and so was she.
Killian scrambled to her feet, cast a furtive glance at the house, then started running as fast as her fucked-up leg would allow. She made a beeline for Dash, who was up front, his gun and gaze trained on the front of the house while Arlo and Danny kept watch on the street. Bikes approached from a few blocks away at a crazy speed. The Sons weren’t done with them yet.
Killian stowed her gun and jumped on the back of the idling bike. Dash holstered his gun and then pulled out into the street. Killian had to hang on as they lurched forward, the momentum almost knocking her off the seat.
Arlo and Danny followed. A couple more shots were fired and then there was nothing but the sound of wailing sirens. Dash checked his mirrors, then held up a hand to signal to the other two to split up. Harder for the cops to spot them that way, especially since Dash wasn’t wearing a patch.
The wind tore through her hair and stung her eyes. They hadn’t been moving this fast when they drove up. Dash slowed down a bit once it seemed they’d put enough distance behind them. When they reached the highway, Killian began to relax a little. They were just a hipster couple out for a drive on their custom ride if you didn’t notice the blood on her hands. She hid them as best she could.
They pulled into his driveway a short while later. Killian was chilled from the ride and sweat. She moved slow as she dismounted the bike, legs shaking.
“Stitches popped,” she said with a wince when Dash gave her a questioning glance.
He swung his leg over. “Nice tourniquet. Let’s get that fixed up.”
Danny pulled in just as Dash unlocked the door, and Arlo arrived right after. Arlo stayed on his bike.
“You guys good?” Danny asked, walking toward them.
Dash nodded. “She needs her leg stitched again, but that seems to be it.”
“It was a fucking trap,” Killian said dumbly. “I should have known.”
Danny shook his head. “Look, we’re going to head back to the clubhouse in case there’s retaliation.”
Killian met his gaze. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”
He grinned at her. “Just another day at the office, baby girl. They come to us, they’re going to be sorry bastards. You take care of you and let me know if you need anything, okay? We’ll find your niece, I promise.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Danny and Dash shook hands, and then the big man walked back to his ride.
Hank met them inside, whimpering when he smelled Killian’s blood.
“It’s okay, boy,” Dash told him. “I’m going to let him out into his pen, then we’ll fix that leg again.”
“Sure.” When he left her, Killian kicked off her boots and limped to the bathroom off Dash’s bedroom. She pulled off her hoodie and blood-soaked jeggings and tossed both on the floor.
“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. Her leg looked nasty, the torn stitches sticking out like bug legs. Without the hoodie string, blood began trickling from the wound once again. She grabbed an old towel from under the sink and pressed it to her leg before propping her foot up on the counter. That’s how Dash found her, in her underwear, socks, and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Her leg and hands covered in blood, face bruised, hair like a rat’s nest.
He just looked at her for a second.
“Yeah,” she said drolly. “I know. I’m nothing if not a catch. Can you fix it, Doc?”
Dash was uncharacteristically quiet as he tended to the cut. He numbed it like he had before, slowed the bleeding, and removed the old stitches. Then he cleaned it and began restitching. Killian watched him work, because there was nothing else to look at except his face, and sometimes looking at his face made her uncomfortable. He was just so…beautiful.
God, she must have lost a lot of blood.
“Will I live, do you think?” she asked, trying to inject a little humor. Her voice was low and raspy.
He glanced at her. No smile. “Only if you stop trying to get yourself killed.” He didn’t say it as censure, just as fact.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said. “I was scared.”
“For me?” He slid the curved needle through her skin, pulling the edges of the wound together.
“Yeah. I can’t imagine you not being here anymore.” She swallowed. “What would I do without you saving my stupid ass?”
“You don’t need saving,” he said roughly. “You never have. I’m just backup.”
“Well, I appreciate it. You don’t owe me anything after how I talked to you that day.” He knew what day she meant—the day she told him not to visit anymore.
“I k
new why you did it.” He seemed to avoid looking at her. “It hurt, but I understood.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” That was all he said. He finished stitching, snipped the threads, and then washed the blood from the area and the rest of her leg.
“I should shower,” she said. “It’s the only way to get all this blood off me.”
“I need you to do something for me first.”
“What?”
He took off his shirt and turned. There was a thick abrasion on his upper left arm, like a bullet had torn off the top layer of flesh.
“Didn’t move fast enough,” he explained.
Killian’s breath caught. It wasn’t the blood, but the fact that he’d come so close to taking a bullet. Because of her.
“I think it needs a couple of stitches,” he continued. “Think you can do it?”
She nodded. It had been a while, but she remembered how to do it. “Do you want me to numb it?”
“No.”
“Tough guy,” she teased.
“I think I need a little pain right now,” he replied.
Killian frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Just stitch.”
So she did. Her hand shook a little, so she braced it against his shoulder to steady it. She was weak, but she could do this for him without causing him too much pain. When she was done, she put a bandage on the closed wound and then jumped in the shower. It wasn’t until she got out that she realized she hadn’t brought clothes in with her, and Dash hadn’t offered her any. He had taken her dirties away, though. Thankfully, his robe was on the back of the door, so she slipped that on.
Dash was in his bedroom, still shirtless. He sat on the side of the bed, an odd expression on his face. Killian’s pulse skipped. “You okay?” she asked.
He lifted his head. “I haven’t been shot at in a long time. Puts things in perspective.”
“Like what?”
His expression changed—became determined. “Like it’s not just a crush if you haven’t seen her for almost six years and all you want to do is kiss her.” He stood up. “Like it’s not just friendship if you want to kill anyone that hurts her. Like it doesn’t matter anymore if she chose your best friend over you.”
She stared at him. What the fuck? “I never chose him over you. He asked me out. You never did. You were my friend.”
He shrugged. “I saw how you looked at him.”
She wanted to tell him it was a long time ago. She wanted to say a lot of things, but words had never been her strong suit. She had loved Jason as much as a teenage girl could love anyone—with all the drama that went with it. Her feelings for Dash had always been more constant.
“Like he’s not really your best friend if the idea of him being with someone else makes you want to kill someone,” she murmured. “Like it’s not just that he’s good-looking if you think he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.”
He looked at her, gaze more gold than green in the dim light. Killian untied the robe and let it slip from her shoulders before closing the distance between them. Dash caught her in his arms and lifted her so they were skin against skin. His lips were warm and firm under hers.
Shit, kissing him was like being kissed for the first time. That ought to terrify her.
She kissed him harder. Held him tighter. When he turned and set her down on the bed, she wrapped herself around him and drew him down on top of her.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Was he real? Killian reached for the zipper of his jeans. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” It was the truth. And she didn’t care.
Eight months ago
“Who would have thought a spork would cause so much damage?” Raven mused as she inspected the wound on Killian’s arm.
“Not a spork,” she corrected. “Just a spoon. Had a pretty good point on it.”
The darker woman met her gaze. “You have any idea how many people have tried to kill you since I became your cellmate?”
“Spoon bitch was number twenty-seven on the grand tally. I’d have to do math to figure out the yearly average, and I’m too fucking tired.” In addition to the gash in her arm, she also had a bruised rib. The woman who jumped her was still in the infirmary, though. Concussion. Killian would take it as a win.
Raven kissed her arm. They were lying together on her bottom bunk. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to fight with you.”
“It’s not your job to watch my ass.”
She smiled coyly. “But it’s such a fine ass.”
Killian chuckled. Before prison she never would have considered herself bi-curious, let alone a one-woman kinda chick, but being locked up changed a lot of the rules, made you do things you wouldn’t normally do. She missed being touched as much as the next person. The first time Raven kissed her she’d stiffened and pulled away, but later—in the dark—she’d let the other woman do all kinds of things to her. Since then she’d done most of them in return. Before Raven showed up all she’d had to get herself off was a purple whale—a dildo made out of a toothbrush, maxipads, and a purple medical glove.
Raven was her longest relationship, and while Killian would describe them as friends with benefits, the entire prison knew not to make a play for either one of them.
“You think Cirello will make another move before your parole hearing?” Raven asked.
Her parole hearing. Christ, that was coming up soon. “Probably.”
Long fingers entwined with hers. “I wonder if he’ll come to the hearing.” Victims were allowed to come to parole hearings to make a statement if they wanted.
Killian laughed softly in the dark. “He won’t.” She was certain of it. She’d never known the man before she attacked him. She had seen him around and she knew of him by reputation, but their circles had been entirely different. Still, she didn’t need a degree in psychology to understand the bastard. He was like any other man who thought himself a big fucking deal. He’d chop a guy’s fingers off with hedge pruners, but he wouldn’t be caught dead in the same room as the woman who had humiliated him.
“I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.”
Squeezing her hand, Killian sighed. “I’ll miss you, too.” And she would, but the separation wasn’t going to break her heart—or Raven’s—and they both knew it.
“Are you going to see that friend of yours? What’s his name…Nash?”
“Dash,” she corrected as regret lay bitter on her tongue. “No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s been too long. I told him to stay away and he did.” None of that was the real reason, though. “I don’t know what I’d say.”
“Hello is a damn fine place to start, sugar.”
“Mm.”
“You should see him.”
“Why do you care?”
Raven didn’t even pretend to be offended by her sharp tone. “Because I care about you, asshole. And because you need to make amends.”
“More of that NA crap?” And then, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” NA had saved Raven’s life. It was low of her to mock it.
The other woman snuggled closer, put her head on Killian’s shoulder. “Look, I know you’re afraid or whatever, but you should talk to him. I bet he’d be happy to see you.”
“Yeah, right.” She’d been a bitch to him that last time. “I don’t think so.”
“Killy…”
Killian shut her up with a kiss. Sex was the perfect distraction. She didn’t want to think about parole, or Cirello, or Dash. Especially not Dash. As much as she missed him—as much as she might want to see him—she was terrified that he would reject her. As tough as she thought she was, she wasn’t tough enough for that.
No, she wasn’t going to risk it. It would take something huge to make her go to Dash.
Something worth more than her pride.
Usually Killian felt defensive after sex—the whole vulnerability of it pissed her off—but she didn’t feel that way af
ter having sex with Dash. She was relaxed, even though her body had more bruises than not, her thigh was ripped up, and Shannon was still out there.
How could she be so selfish when Shannon was probably with Rank? Christ only knew what he might do to her. The only thing that kept her from losing her damn mind was the certainty that Rank wouldn’t do anything to Shannon until he was sure Killian would witness it. He wouldn’t be content with just hurting her; he’d want Killian to see him do it. That twisted need of his was the one thing that might keep Shannon safe.
So she could blow off some steam with Dash, gather her thoughts and her strength, and try to figure out what the hell to do.
She was on her stomach beside him as he traced the lines of the tattoo on her back, every feather of every crow. “I’ve never told,” he said, voice low. “Have you?”
Killian shook her head. “No.” She glanced at his arm. “Why did you get one for sorrow?”
He shrugged. “The whole thing made me sad. You made me sad, I guess.” His gaze went to the designs on her right arm. “You’ve gotten more.”
“Yeah, one of the girls inside was good at it. It was something to pass the time.”
“And the scars?”
“Those came from Rank. He put a price on my head for a while.”
“I remember. A lot of us let it be known there’d be retribution for whoever decided to take it.”
“You must have kicked a lot of ass, then, because according to my PO almost two dozen people tried to collect.” The number was actually a little higher than that, but there hadn’t been any point in telling Donna that.
“You’re just hard to kill.”
“Well, everybody’s got to be good at something.” She sighed. “Do you think she’s really with Rank?”
“I’d put money on it.” Leaning on his elbow, he looked her in the eye. “I can have him taken out.”
Killian stared at him. “Who?”
“Wex. Rank. Whoever you want. I know people who can make them disappear. I can make them disappear.”
As far as she knew, Dash had never killed anyone in his entire life. He had always been careful about that. Said if he didn’t respect the lives of others then no one would respect his. She always respected that about him.