Dream Maker

by Kristen Ashley

  Mick leaned deep into the table and hissed, “That bag gone, I am dead. Do you get me? I…am…dead. You gotta find that bag.”

  “Do you have a hearing problem?” Mag asked.

  “Evie is not gonna want her brother dead,” Mick spat.

  “Evan is experiencing some epiphanies regarding her family,” Mag shared. “You wouldn’t know this, so I’ll educate you that that kind of thing happens when you open your apartment door and see everything you worked for reduced to garbage because your brother is a piece of shit.”

  Mick sat back hard, his chains clanging.

  “Now, guide her to seeing the light and prove that maybe you got something worth the loyalty she’s given you and tell me how to extricate her from your shit,” Mag pushed.

  “I tell you anything, I’ll be put down faster than I will be when they find out that bag is in the wind,” Mick returned, and the chains clanked again as he tossed out both hands, which were cuffed to hooks in the table. “And newsflash, soldier, I haven’t forgotten where I am, you know, cameras and tape recorders and shit. So, anything I say here can be used against me, and first, I’m not a dumbass, second, I’m not a rat, and third, if by some miracle I survive this shit, I don’t want anyone thinkin’ I’m either of those things.”

  “So, in an attempt to cover your ass, you’re throwing your sister to the wolves,” Mag noted and finished, “Again.”

  Mick tipped up his chin three times to indicate the three men in the room with him and replied, “Seems she’s got protection.”

  “I’m telling her every word of this chat,” Mag shared.

  Mick couldn’t quite hide his flinch.

  So he cared.

  But did he care enough?

  “She’s already asking herself serious questions about her relationship with her brother, you don’t help me help her, she’s not going to have a relationship with her brother,” Mag continued.

  “If I tell you, she won’t have a brother,” Mick returned.

  “Considering she lost nearly everything today because of you, her life goals put on hold because her brother is useless piece of trash, I’m wondering how broken up she’ll be about that,” Mag stated.

  Mick said nothing, but he was stewing, just not in a good way. He was pissed at having to take Mag’s insults.

  Mag held his gaze.

  Mick remained silent.

  Quietly, his voice rumbling with disbelief, he asked, “Are you honestly gonna let me walk out that door without the tools I need to get your sister safe?”

  “Evie always lands on her feet.”

  Mag flattened his hand on the table and leaned into it.

  He felt Mo get closer.

  He felt Hawk go alert.

  But once he did that, he stopped.

  And then he said, “The thing you don’t get is, the people in our lives that we love, if we’re worth anything, anything at all, we bust our asses to make it so they aren’t in a situation where they have to land on their feet ’cause we made it so they’re always on solid ground.”

  Mick’s face twisted before he replied, “Well, then, it seems it’s lucky she’s now got you.”

  “Yeah, seein’ as I gotta help her survive the likes of you,” Mag returned.

  The flinch he got at that was not at all hidden, but before Mag could hone in and work that, Mick’s face set to belligerence and he taunted, “Tell her I said hi.”

  “I will, right after I tell her you didn’t give that first fuck you cost her everything and didn’t think once about anyone but yourself, not even to ask how she’s doing, which, by the way, is not very good.”

  With that, Mag pushed up and walked right out of the room.

  Mo and Hawk followed him.

  Brock was waiting outside the door.

  They moved farther down the hall before they stopped and huddled.

  Hawk gave him a look and Mag braced because he could tell his boss was sliding into guru mode.

  He’d worked for Hawk for years and the man deserved mad respect. He was a good boss, a loving husband and a doting father. He was also intelligent, experienced and returned the respect he had if it was earned.

  And he was an excellent teacher and generous with his knowledge.

  But Mag wasn’t sure he was in the mood for Hawk to go guru.

  “You gotta play this the way you feel you should play this, but with that guy, you might want to think about giving to get,” Hawk advised.

  Mag shook his head. “Evan strips to pay her bills and put herself through college. She does that and still has a second job. There might be a few things she can salvage from her apartment, Hawk, but it won’t be much. That’s an annoyance for a guy who makes the cake you do, a setback for a guy who earns like me, but it’s a disaster for Evie.”

  Mag lifted a hand and stabbed a finger in the direction of the room they’d just left and carried on talking.

  “He put her there. He knew it was a possibility she’d be there or in some other situation that’d have her shit twisted, and he didn’t give a fuck. I’m not gonna offer him protection or ask Brock to get the cops to swing him a deal if he takes care of his sister. He’s her blood. He shouldn’t need to get something to give that to his sister. I’ll sort her shit and whatever happens to him is not my problem. And I’ll find a way to get Evan to that same thinking.”

  Hawk did not argue this, and Mag knew it was because he agreed, he just wanted Mag to consider the options.

  Mag looked to Brock. “You know someone on the street called Snag who drives a Lincoln Continental?”

  “My beat isn’t narcotics anymore,” Brock answered. “But I’ll ask around.”

  Mo entered the conversation. “You get answers, you give them to me.”

  “Mo—” Mag started.

  Mo turned to Mag. “For now. You take care of Evan. While you do, I’ll be lookin’ into shit. Your focus now is her. I’ll work with Aug, Boone and Axl to make it so, when that can shift, you hit the ground running.”

  Mag nodded then gave his attention back to Brock. “Appreciate you arranging this.”

  “Not a problem,” Brock murmured. “Hate to say this, bub, but you’re gonna have to bring her in. She needs to make a statement.”

  Mag hated to hear it, but he knew that.

  “I’ll talk to her,” he replied, then cast his gaze between all of them. “I gotta get home to Evie.”

  He got nods and chin lifts.

  Then he took off.

  Mag was standing at his door, saying good-bye to Boone and Axl.

  Evie, they’d told him, had crashed an hour before.

  Probably the Fireball.

  And spent emotion.

  And the fact, with two jobs, one she worked that was physical and ran into the dead of night, she had to run herself ragged.

  “Thanks for lookin’ out for her,” he said.

  “If you need anything…” Boone stated.

  “She’s gonna need help with cleanup of her pad,” Mag told him.

  “When you dig in, call, I’m there,” Boone replied.

  “I’m in too,” Axl said.

  That meant, whatever went down with them while he was away, Evan had earned their approval.

  Not a surprise, she was kind of a dork, but it was seriously cute.

  He nodded.

  Boone lifted a hand, Axl lifted his chin, and they took off.

  Mag shut the door and locked it.

  He was turning out lights and telling himself it would be invasive to check on Evan to make sure she was sleeping when he heard the door to Mo’s room open.

  He arrested when he saw her in the sliver of the door she hadn’t opened all the way.

  Boone or Axl had given her one of his tees to sleep in.

  Christ.

  Yeah, she had great legs.

  “Hey,” she said, opening the door farther and leaning against the jamb.

  Oh yeah.

  Great fucking legs.

  “Can’t s
leep?” he asked.

  “I…” She gave her head some short shakes then asked, “You went to go talk to Mick, didn’t you?”

  Shit.

  Busted.

  “We’ll chat about this tomorrow,” he told her, moving her way.

  “He didn’t do anything to help, did he?”

  He stopped in front of her and murmured, “Evie.”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “It’s really not,” he replied.

  “I’m used to it,” she mumbled.

  “You shouldn’t be,” he returned.

  She sucked her lips between her teeth.

  “You gonna be able to sleep?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she lied.

  Damn, he wanted to hold her.

  There, in the doorway to Mo’s old room.

  Or take her to his bed, stretch out beside her and hold her all night.

  Give her something solid. Give her proof not everyone in her life was a dick.

  He didn’t do either.

  He walked back to the kitchen, nabbed the toothbrush and tube of toothpaste that he’d picked up for her, brought it back and handed it to her.

  “Didn’t think to ask your brand,” he said.

  She was staring down at the stuff in her hand, seemingly frozen to the spot.

  “Evie?” he called, and her head came up.

  “Toothpaste is toothpaste,” she replied, her voice husky. “It’s just sweet you remembered.”

  At least he gave her that.

  Though, from the look on her face, it seemed, for her, it was a fuckuva lot more than toothpaste.

  “Danny, I don’t know how I can thank—” she began.

  “Stop, baby,” he murmured. “Anyone would do what I did when they walked up to you with your apartment like that.”

  “Not anyone.”

  That was definitely her experience.

  “You’re a good guy and now I feel like an even bigger bitch I was so ugly to you last night,” she whispered.

  “We’re beyond that,” he reminded her.

  “Okay,” she said unconvincingly.

  “Try to get some sleep,” he urged.

  “Okay,” she repeated.

  “If you can’t, my room’s right over there.” He pointed to the door in the unit opposite hers, across the kitchen. “Knock, honey. I’ll get up, we’ll chat, watch some late-night movies, whatever.”

  “Okay,” she said again, though he knew she wouldn’t disturb him just like he knew she probably wouldn’t get any sleep. “Thanks again, Danny.”

  “Don’t mention it, Evie. Rest well.”

  “You too.”

  Slowly, she slid out of the door, closing it behind her.

  Mag stood staring at it, the feelings boiling inside him again.

  He’d developed coping mechanisms to handle his temper.

  Talking to Mo, Auggie, Boone, Axl, some of them or all of them.

  Working out.

  Finding someone to fuck.

  And last recourse, getting drunk, though sometimes that could bite him in the ass.

  He could call any of his friends and they’d talk or come over and listen.

  Mag didn’t do that.

  It might tweak Evie.

  Not to mention, at this juncture, with her life a mess, she didn’t need to learn he was all kinds of fucked up.

  So instead, he turned off the kitchen light, walked to his room and went to bed.

  Mag woke because he smelled bacon.

  He stared at his pillow, then he threw back the covers, angled out of bed, walked to his door and pulled it open.

  Yeah.

  Fuck him.

  That was what he’d hoped to see.

  Evie, in his tee, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast.

  If she didn’t want him to see her legs, she’d be in her clothes.

  She wanted him to see her legs, her in his tee, and all that communicated.

  Thank Christ, today was starting a helluva lot better than yesterday.

  She was standing at the stove.

  She turned at the sound of his door opening, her mouth moving like she was about to say something, but when she clapped eyes on him, she went completely still, her gaze glued to his chest.

  Mag slept in loose shorts.

  He worked at his body because he liked doing it.

  He did it because it helped him keep his emotions in check.

  And he did it because it was a requirement of his job.

  But right then, he was fucking glad he did.

  “Mornin’, Evie,” he said, moving out of his room.

  She blinked rapidly, her eyes shifting down to his abs, lower, then skimming quickly up.

  He never would have imagined he’d wake up the morning after last night (and the one before) and walk out to his kitchen grinning.

  But that was what he did.

  He buried the grin, leaned a hip against the counter of the island, crossed his arms on his chest, which made her drop her eyes to it again before they speeded back up to his face, and he caught his lip twitch before he asked, “You manage to get any sleep?”

  “A couple of hours,” she replied.

  “Good,” he muttered.

  “I, uh…thought I’d start my thank-you process by making you breakfast,” she told him.

  He quirked his brows. “Your thank-you process?”

  “It has multiple layers. Or it will. I haven’t decided what those are going to be yet. But,” she indicated the frying pan with her fork, “it starts with breakfast.”

  He smiled at her. “Baby, you don’t have anything to thank me for.”

  At least, not yet.

  “On that, we disagree,” she mumbled, turning back to the pan. “It’s good you’re up, how do you like your eggs?”

  “However you make them.”

  She looked at him again. “What’s your favorite way?”

  “Eggs are eggs, babe. Whatever way you wanna make ’em, I’ll like.”

  She was going to say something, but toast popped up and that took her attention.

  So he said, “Gonna go brush my teeth. Then I’ll be back, and I’ll help you finish breakfast.”

  Her attention returned to him, but he pivoted, walked to his room and through it to the bathroom. He used it, washed his hands, did the brush thing, the floss thing, splashed water on his face and pulled his wet fingers through his hair.

  And he absolutely did not tug on a tee on his way back to the kitchen.

  She had plates down, a stack of toast started, bacon resting on a paper towel by the stove and was scrambling some eggs when he returned.

  “Just sit down, Mag, and let me serve you. If you help, it won’t be a thank-you,” she ordered, not glancing his way.

  But…

  Mag?

  She had not once called him Mag, unless it was right after he told her to do that, but then she went right back to Danny.

  Seemed in those hours she didn’t sleep she’d made some decisions about how she was going to move forward on some things.

  Though not all the right decisions.

  Making breakfast in his tee, correct.

  Calling him Mag, incorrect.

  He saw the coffeepot was full, so instead of heading to a stool at the island, he moved that way.

  Which was closer to her.

  “Just gonna get a cup of joe,” he told her.

  “I can get it for you,” she offered quickly, turning his way. “How do you take it?”

  Fortunately, he’d gotten close by the time she turned his way so he could get up in her space.

  Something he did.

  Her eyes got wide, then they dropped to his chest, grew lazy, he grinned, and they shot back up to his face.

  “Mag, I—” she began.

  “Danny,” he muttered, looking at her mouth.

  Her head ticked, and she said, “But I thought you liked to be called—”

  She again didn’t finish, seeing as he lifte
d a hand, slid his fingers along the side of her neck and up into her hair behind her ear.

  Yeah, that hair was as soft as it looked.

  “Didn’t sleep much either, worried about you and if you were getting any rest,” he told her.

  “Well, I…that sucks. I’m sorry. I—”

  She stopped talking when he slid the tips of his fingers through her hair and down the line of the back of her neck.

  “I gotta work today, but you can stay here,” he said. “I’ll talk to Mo. They got a security system at their pad. Mac danced last night, so she’s probably asleep, but when she gets up, you can hang with her. Around lunch, I’ll come and get you and take you over to their place.”

  “Mag—”

  “Danny,” he corrected, running his fingers under her ear, feeling her shiver, fighting another grin, then he stroked her throat with his forefinger and kept talking. “When I get off work tonight, I’ll come get you and we’ll pop in at the police station. Make a quick statement. Give them what we got to help them do their jobs.”

  “The police?”

  He didn’t address that.

  He kept rolling.

  “And then we’ll grab a bite and go to your place, check it out, see what we can salvage, form a plan of attack for cleanup. Boone and Axl said they’d help.”

  “They did?” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” he confirmed.

  “That’s nice,” she kept whispering.

  But now she was watching his mouth.

  “You like them?” he asked.

  Her brows twitched.

  “Who?” she asked his mouth.

  He couldn’t beat back the smile at that.

  “Boone and Axl.”

  “They were great,” she mumbled, again, to his mouth.

  He dipped his head closer to hers.

  She swayed toward him.

  Oh yeah.

  He slid his hand again to the back of her neck and murmured, “How ’bout, since you’re closer, you pour me a cup, and I’ll finish these eggs.”