Nope, Dan-goddamn-Torres.
Dan: Long fucking day. Can’t help but wish I was in your bed rather than here.
Grif swallowed hard. He could empathize with the sentiment. He’d much rather be hot and sweaty from a couple rounds with Dan Torres rather than from running through Chicago and getting shot at. Instead, he lay here trying to dodge a headache determined to descend.
The thought of the gorgeous guy made his cock stiffen from memories of the way he’d thrust into that tight ass and the desperate moans that followed. As much as Dan might’ve let him take the lead in the bedroom, whenever they texted, his honesty steered Grif in a way he wasn’t used to. If he weren’t such a vet at lying to himself, he might even admit he liked it.
Grif: Long fucking day here too. Might not have you in my bed, but at least I’ll get to see that sexy ass on Wednesday.
The simple admission unlocked something inside him. As much as he loved his Outlaws, he always held back—a leader couldn’t bitch about every problem that cropped up or their confidence in his ability would be shaken. And as much as Alanna, Scarlet, J-man, and Tuck sank their lion claws in and tried to peel past skin to take some of the burden, the subtle pressure of expectation remained. He would provide the answers, because he had to.
Dan Torres didn’t have any expectations from him. They were bitching about their shitty days, and for fuck’s sake, that felt… nice. Hell, it felt gayer than sticking his dick in the guy. They’d been texting the past couple of days, and every interaction charmed him more. Each single time Dan Torres’s name flashed on his phone, relief caressed him like a tender touch, and he loathed the weak way he craved it like he’d been starving.
Dan: Thanks, now I’m hard again. I don’t know how I’m supposed to face you at the meeting without blushing.
A grin spread on his lips, and warmth brushed across his chest like molten caramel.
Grif: Just keep thinking of all the filthy things I want to do to you. Guaranteed to help.
Grif stared at his blank ceiling, trying to ignore the stutter-start of his heart. He’d come in from a long run and a huge mess, so of course his heart would be racing like it drove in the Indy 500. Not like that explained the honeyed way heat coursed through his veins, tingling down to his fingers and toes. His simple conversation with Dan somehow leached away some of the pounding necessity of his problems and cast them off the shore like broken shells to sink into the ocean.
Nevarra might be growling at his door, and Doncaster breathing down his neck, but the biggest danger he faced was Dan Torres.
Ten
The sun flickered across Dan’s windshield, brightening the patches of green grass that tried to bloom in early spring. The parade of gorgeous, quasi-Victorian houses flashed by in shades of powder blue, lavender, and creamy yellow as he slowed at an all-too-familiar street, one he pulled into at least once a week for family dinner. Even though he’d moved to the city years ago, he’d grown up in the suburbs, first in Harvey until Dad had made it big and started Torres Industries. From there, they’d ended up in the opposite area, Clarendon Hills.
This might be his childhood home, but he’d always felt more natural on the streets of Harvey than he did amidst the cliquish communities here. He wheeled his Audi onto the winding drive, the gorgeous houses with their sprawling lawns and manicured shrubs rising up to greet him. The Torres house stood at the end of the lane, the two-car garage, dozens of framed windows, and the rounded entryway with its very own turret the reason he’d declared this place a castle from the day they’d moved in.
He and Vanessa still came over for Sunday dinner every week, the drive so comfortable he barely thought it over. This week’s dinner got rescheduled to Tuesday due to Aunt Darna needing a ride to the airport. After his talk with Nessa at the office, his veins buzzed. He and his father had clashed over decisions any time he tried to follow his own path or act any different from the son Torres Sr. pictured.
Leo had told him to ditch the family judgement years ago, especially when his dad strong-armed him into running the company, and sometimes, he was tempted. He pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine.
The idea of a future without the family he’d grown up with caused his stomach to dive deep into Lake Michigan and never surface. Dan couldn’t imagine sitting alone in his condo on Sunday evenings, knowing Mama was making adobo and lumpia and Vanessa was sitting on the sofa with their black lab, Rufus. Dad always had some random story to share from the Wall Street Journal, the gruff, low tone a comfort. Dan’s stomach twisted. He knew his view of his family was skewed and Dad either ignored or participated in dirty dealings within his company. But what Vanessa had uncovered—potential murder? None of them could step back from that line.
And Leo’s most recent attempt to dig had him unnerved. Leo had managed to transmit a virus to Brennerman’s computer, one that he got called in to take care of. However, there wasn’t much he could do about digging into the files Brennerman kept on the local network the senior partners used while the man himself skulked around behind him. The one thing that had come out of it was Leo’s discovery of the locked safe underneath the man’s desk, a high enough grade one to ping their internal alarms.
Dan loped up the concrete steps leading to the polished oak door. He didn’t bother to knock, just grabbed the wrought iron handle and stepped inside. The rich scents of kare kare wafted his way, notes of peanut and garlic strong in the air. His stomach rumbled despite the way his insides twisted in a dozen tight knots.
Vanessa’s voice filtered in from the kitchen in the far back of the house as he walked through the sunny room. The apricot beams poured across the polished hardwood. He stepped into the foyer and kicked off his shoes right by the door, where the others had been neatly set. Dan couldn’t help but run a hand through his hair to comb through his strands again.
“About time you showed up,” his dad’s voice rumbled from the other room.
Dan sucked in a deep breath as he bypassed the white banister leading upstairs and entered the living room—at least, the main one they used. Dad sat on the plum sofa along the back wall, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he skimmed over a newspaper. A stack of other papers rested on the coffee table in front of him. Even post-retirement, Dad kept vigilant about his investments—which of course included him and Nessa.
Wrinkles sharpened his father’s features, the deep grooves giving him a distinguished air that fit the loafers-and-sweaters look his father swept into upon retirement. He entered the cloud of his father’s sandalwood aftershave and took a seat on the couch beside him. Dan hunched forward, elbows digging into his thighs to keep from fidgeting.
“Phil Brennerman called me last week,” Dad mentioned, his tone careful in a trap Dan knew better than to fall for.
The words jumped to his tongue, how Phil Brennerman was a pain in his ass, how the man had been throwing tantrums from the day he took over the company. Dan swallowed them back. He needed to control his temper.
“What’s Phil Brennerman bothering an old retired guy like you about?” Dan asked, forcing levity into his voice.
“He’s got some concerns with how you’re running the business,” Dad said, staring at the text on his newspaper rather than him. Oh, screw that guy. What grown-ass man needed to tattle to his father?
Dan shrugged. “Well, new regime, new procedures. If we don’t adapt to modern times, the business will ultimately fail. You always taught me that, Pops.” He emphasized his last statement, daring his father to challenge him.
His father’s eyebrows drew together, and he folded the newspaper onto his lap, which meant a lecture would follow. “I trust you, son. I know you want what’s best for the company. However, Phil Brennerman’s been at the business for a lot longer than you. He’s got knowledge on the inner workings of the business you don’t, and I think you need to take that into account before brushing him off.”
Dan’s stomach dropped. Even though the scents of the meal coo
king in the other room had made him salivate a second ago, he couldn’t find his appetite now. Sure, his dad was a control freak and he expected the interrogations, but asking him to defer to Brennerman? Why bother putting him in charge of the company?
The obvious answer smacked him in the face, the one he’d tried to dodge around for a while now, and the one that had become brighter than the lights at Wrigley Field.
“If there’s some inner knowledge I don’t have, I think it’s an essential part of being able to run the company,” Dan insisted, attempting to argue with his father. Truth be told, he wanted to run far from whatever his father and the board had mired themselves in. “You wanted me as CEO of this company, so if I’m to keep Torres Industries growing, I’m going to need every tool in my arsenal. Care to share why our CFO has his own top-notch safe in his office?”
His dad’s dark eyes flickered with guilt, and the lines around his eyes softened with an expression Dan knew all too well. Regret. The sight socked him in the stomach. A couple of years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to bluff around his father for shit, but learning a false face had become a survival mechanism at Torres Industries.
“People have their roles in the company for a reason, Nilo. Sometimes it’s better to just stay out of certain things. How do you think I lasted as long as I did? Corporate dealings aren’t for the faint of heart.”
The affection in his father’s voice and the old nickname on his lips was like glass hitting the hardwood. The closed-door response was the exact one he feared, the closest his father would ever come to an admission of guilt.
His father’s gaze bored into him. “Tell me you’ll let Phil do what he needs to do. The two of you can achieve a working peace, I believe it. He’s just a bit stubborn and old-fashioned, not unlike your old father.”
Dan’s smile frayed around the edges. He barely held back the bile. Out of everyone, he’d hoped he could trust his family. That this remained a safe haven, not another war-torn battlefield like his work had become. However, the pressure behind his father’s statement and the intent in his eyes made the reason his father wanted him as CEO clear.
Dad might’ve retired, but not by choice—the man would’ve kept working until he prepared his own funeral arrangements, but he thought retiring looked best for the company. And Dan had always been the pliable son, adjustable, because he hated to fight with his family.
He’d be the shitty bobble-head nodding yes while Phil Brennerman and his crew continued to rake in a fortune and abuse company funds at the expense of their workers. Dad never expected him to push back against the corruption within Torres Industries, because he’d never pushed back against him growing up.
Whether it was never bringing his boyfriends home to meet the family.
Whether it was attending every Mother’s Day, graduation, and reunion with the extended family, even though he had to brace himself for the homophobic comments that sometimes slipped out from his uncles.
Whether it was dropping out of the graduate work in mechanical engineering he loved to assume a role in a company that made him nauseous.
“Yeah,” Dan forced out, the words tasting tart on his tongue. “Phil can do his thing. I’ll focus on working around him.”
Lie. Lie. Lie.
His father nodded, his fingers skimming across the newspaper as he pulled the pages up again like a protective shield. Like it would kill him to talk with his son for a little longer than five minutes.
“My Danilo.” Mom’s voice sounded from the kitchen entryway. “You snuck in so quietly. Come, give me a hug.” His mother wiped her hands down on the apron she wore, covered in stains from the kare kare he smelled. Her thick black ringlets were pulled back in a bun, and she wore maroon lipstick like always, even when she wasn’t going out for the day. Her eyes crinkled with warmth that on a normal day filled him with sunlight.
Right now, a heat wave could sizzle through Chicago, and he wouldn’t feel an ounce of it.
Dan pushed himself from his seat on the couch, ignoring the sweat pricking his palms. He made himself smile, even though the motion felt like slices carved onto a wooden doll. He moved on reflex toward his mother, striding across the room to throw his arms around her in a hug. She smelled like flour and spice, but even with the way she clutched him tight, the numbness had already spread to his fingertips.
“Good to see you, Mama,” Dan murmured into her soft hair. “The food smells amazing. I can’t wait to dig in.” Did she know what his father was involved in? Or did he prefer to keep her ignorant too? His stomach clenched.
Vanessa stepped in behind Mom, her jeans covered in flour and her hair pulled into a low ponytail. This was the sister he knew, so different from the Armani-clad professional who thundered into the board meetings with her barbed words and icy stare. Her dark eyes met his, and the ground dropped beneath him like he’d stepped into a sinkhole.
He caught the question in the tilt of her head. However, he couldn’t bring himself to reveal the truth, even if she’d be pissed at him for lying. Vanessa and Dad were a fractured thing glued together by his and Mom’s efforts alone—this would shatter them. Maybe he was weak for clinging to these weekly dinners, to this family that strained at the seams with secrets, but right now, they were all he had.
Dan jerked his head “no.” He couldn’t cut Vanessa out of their trio, but he could at least protect her from this.
Vanessa’s lips pressed tight together, the relief crystalizing in her eyes. “About time you got here, little bro. What took you so long?”
“Got lost in the mirror,” he responded automatically. “You know how I like to primp.” Even as he said the words, he could feel his father’s gaze bearing down on him with the familiar censure any time he indulged in behaviors considered less than “masculine.” He swallowed hard and pulled away from Mom, placing a hand on her shoulder, anxious to get through the family dinner as fast as possible. The longer he had to stare at his father, the more the coals in his chest would flare, and the closer he’d come to breaking.
“Do you need help with the dishes?” he asked. Dan looked his mom in the eye, hoping to find answers there like he had as a kid. Her eyes crinkled with her smile, causing the faulty spark plugs in his heart to ignite once more. His father might be involved, but his mother couldn’t have been. “Let me go get the table set.”
He took the excuse to step into the kitchen, away from the rest of the family. The pressure built inside him like he’d lost his regulator and hurtled toward implosion. He wanted to run out of the house and drive long and far into the night until it was just him, the open highway, and the twinkling lights of the city.
If he were being honest with himself, he wanted Greg Locksley in his condo again and a repeat of that night. His life had narrowed into a black hole of late, one that had been sucking him under more and more, and the date, that night, had become the one bright spot.
Tomorrow. He’d see him tomorrow.
Dan tugged out the dishes, the porcelain clinking, and then grabbed the silverware with a jangle. He took one breath, two, drawing in the scent of his mother’s cooking, the kare kare he grew up with. He just needed to survive dinner first.
Eleven
Today needed to go right. No room for mistakes.
Which, given the Outlaws’ current streak of luck, meant they’d end up with the building burning down around them while Alanna hurled insults, Tuck attempted a leap from sixty stories high, and Scarlet took up knitting.
Grif straightened his tie and stepped out of his room at last.
John already waited by the door, clad in a sharp gray Burberry suit and a liar’s smile. “About time you came out of there. Gussying up for the meeting with your new lover?”
“Ass.” Grif shot him a deadeye stare. He’d earned the ribbing, sure, but what crept under his skin was the fact he’d spent at least a little longer in front of the mirror than normal, tweaking the product in his hair.
“Ass is what you’ll be getting
if you have another secret rendezvous with Danilo Torres,” John cracked back, his blue eyes dancing.
“Why do I tolerate the lot of you, again?” Grif asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Let’s be real, nothing stays secret here with this group of busybodies.”
Scarlet’s heels clicked as she approached behind him. “You’d be lonely without us, boss.” She flashed him a grin, the white of her teeth even brighter against her carmine lips. “And, don’t worry, we won’t spill to your new beau how long you spent on that look.”
Grif groaned. “Et tu, Scar? We’re going to set the stage for our heist, not so I can take Dan Torres over his office table.” He strode up beside John, trying to ignore how his cock woke to life at the thought of fucking that gorgeous man in his own office.
“With your lack of shame, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Scarlet passed them to crack the door open. Her pixie-cut hair was slicked back with a bit of product, and she wore a fitted Tom Ford pantsuit that clung to her slender body. “What are you lot waiting around for? We’ve got a business to infiltrate.”
John shook his head, a grin on his lips as he followed Scarlet out the door. Grif grabbed the handle and glanced back inside, but Tuck and Alanna were still crashed out this early on a Wednesday morning. His stomach twisted, and his nerves whistled like a pot of tea, but whether it was Nevarra’s threats, adrenaline from the upcoming heist, or the idea of seeing Dan again, he couldn’t tell. He just knew they couldn’t fuck this up.
He closed the door and locked it behind him before he jogged down the steps to catch up with John and Scarlet.
The Aon Center loomed ahead, tall enough to make an impression even surrounded by all those giants. Today was typical Chicago weather, the clouds coated in silver as they crowded the cobalt skies. Blustery breezes caused McDonald’s wrappers to skitter across the ground and crushed foam coffee cups to tumble around and snag under tires.
Midnight Heist (Outlaws Book 1) Page 8