SOLD TO A KILLER

by Evelyn Glass

  “Okay. How do we know for sure?”

  He was quiet for a moment, and then something sparked in his eyes, and a cold grin spread over his face. “We’re going to go talk to Connell. But that means you have got to change.”

  Chapter Six

  Emma

  Emma tried to understand how exactly she’d been talked into this. Not helping Dean, that was obvious and clear. Mia needed help, and he was completely convinced that this was the right way to help her. What he’d said was too true. She had different reasons for distrusting the cops, but she knew in her heart that they wouldn’t look as hard for a little-mixed girl as they would for one of her white students. Abbey would immediately be implicated, and Dean as well, just because they weren’t white. Hell, she’d probably be putting her own neck on the chopping block. She might be white-passing, more often than not, but her background was fairly obvious when push came to shove. Even though she’d worked hard at the center, she knew what happened when people started to look too closely and get suspicious. They wouldn’t be malicious about it. But there would be questions. And long, angry looks. She didn’t want to do it. Maybe that was childish, or petty, but she didn’t want to do it. Not unless she really believed that the police could actually save Mia’s life. She just didn’t believe it. She didn’t believe that they’d try, and Dean didn’t believe they’d do it.

  Helping him seemed to be the only way to help Mia.

  And apparently, helping couldn’t happen in her teacher costume.

  “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb,” he’d said, “and you do not want to stick out there.” He’d made some noise about finding something in Abbey’s closet, but if the woman didn’t even like strangers in her house, there was no way Emma was going to let him talk her into putting on some of the woman’s clothes. That was just mean.

  They’d gotten back into the Gran Sport, and driven across town to her apartment. And now he was sitting on her bed — which of course she had not made because she had not anticipated having a six-foot-tall, super cute, gorgeous man in her bedroom this evening — watching her go through her closet.

  “What are you looking for here? Something just more… trashy? Actual club gear? Leather and lace? I need guidelines.”

  He was silent, and she turned around to find him leaning back just a little, holding a purple lace bra in his hands. Because, of course, she hadn’t cleaned her dirty laundry off the bed, either. Dammit. His gaze turned up to her, and suddenly she was smoldering in her panties, so eager and hungry. She stalked back over to him, reaching for the bra, but he pulled it out of reach, forcing her to step closer, spreading her legs to make room for his knees. The position put her tits right in his face.

  He groaned and dropped the bra, lifting her breasts in her shirt as he pressed his face into the flesh. All it would take was dropping her weight into his lap, and she knew damn well he’d take it from there. She wanted so much to let go of some of this tension, but not yet. Not yet.

  She reached down and put a finger under his chin, tilting his face up so that he was looking at her.

  “If you help me figure out what you need me to wear,” she said, letting all that want and smolder show in her voice, “I’ll put the purple bra on. And there are matching panties.”

  “What kind of panties?” he asked, his voice barely more than a low growl.

  “Hipsters.”

  “Good. I hate G-strings. Hipsters are better.”

  “If you rip them off me, I’ll never forgive you.”

  He growled for real and bit at her flesh. She didn’t feel it much through the foam of the bra, but “not much” still translated into a wave of wet heat in between her thighs. “If I rip them off you, I’ll buy you new ones. All the new ones you want.”

  She laughed and forced herself to step away. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, what are we looking for here?”

  “If I say ‘get naked’ would you listen?” She shot a glare over her shoulder, and he laughed. “Okay, fine. Just something less…” he gestured vaguely, and she waited to see if he’d fill in the space.

  “Middle class? Preppy?” More vague hand waving. “Adorkable?”

  A quick, sharp laugh. “Yes. That. Whatever the fuck that means. Just, you know, regular clothes. Like regular people wear.”

  “I’m regular,” she said, quietly. He made a non-committal sound, and she didn’t really feel like she had room to argue. Not really. She was something, but regular wasn’t it. She’d never been regular. She’d never really wanted to be regular.

  She found a pair of jeans that hugged her curves while giving just enough of a flare at the ankle to balance out her shape. A tank top that made her tits look amazing, and her favorite top, a leather vest with a knit hood. She shrugged it all on and turned. “Look like I’d be on the back of your bike?”

  He had to swallow twice before he answered. “Yes. Yup. Yes.”

  She laughed. “Let me touch up my makeup, and then we’ll go.”

  “I’m disappointed you didn’t pick a skirt,” he said as she walked towards the bathroom. She turned, her eyebrows raised to ask the question. “I was looking forward to that show you promised me, back in the car.”

  “Well, now you’re just going to need to be patient,” she said. It was difficult, getting the words out of her suddenly dry throat. All the moisture had hurried off somewhere else. The idea of planting her feet on that rebuilt custom dash, fucking herself with her fingers in the passenger seat of a goddamn Gran Sport… Shit, she might die from the sheer pleasure of that orgasm in those surroundings. Something to put in her daydream box, just in case they survived whatever the hell this was.

  “Unless you want to take the time for me to change?”

  “Nope,” he said. “I watched your ass change clothes once and didn’t touch. I don’t think I’d survive a repeat performance.”

  Her cheeks flamed with sudden heat. She hadn’t even asked him to leave the room, had barely even noticed that he was there. How was she so comfortable with him so fast? Nothing good was going to come of this. This was not part of the plan she’d had for her life.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said, and he laughed at her, but followed her out of her small apartment.

  Chapter Seven

  Dean

  For all the bluster and banter Dean was putting on for Emma’s benefit, his stomach was starting to swirl with worry. No call meant that something was very wrong. If they, whoever they were, knew how important Abbey and Mia were to him, why hadn’t they called to tell him what they wanted? Sure, it had been about an hour, but wouldn’t they want him to know?

  It was possible that someone had figured out that he’d been a witness — in one way or another — to both of the grabs, and so they were waiting to make him frantic before calling to offer some hope. That was how he’d play it if he were the kind of shithead to run this sort of plan.

  He didn’t know where Abbey was, had no clue if Mia was okay. She was big enough to tell someone about her inhaler if she needed it, right? But would they believe her? Would someone have medicine to give her? He never had to deal with her asthma on a day to day basis, just been there when she’d had a couple of mild attacks. But he knew that the attacks got worse and worse if they weren’t relieved, the lungs slowly irritating themselves more and more. Asthma killed people.

  He had to forcefully push his mind away from that thought. Focusing on Emma’s impressive ass was easier. She’d undressed in front of him without the slightest hint of shame or consideration. It was like he wasn’t there. Somehow, that was a thousand times sexier than a calculated strip tease or sending him out of the room for privacy that was only about making him wonder what she looked like. Actual privacy, of course, was very different, but that faux concern thing always drove him nuts. People who stared at him from under their eyelashes, murmuring about how ugly they were in a clear attempt to get him to contradict them. That had never turned him on.

  Sam had been incredibly s
traightforward in a time when she was punished even more fiercely for it, especially in their mellow New England city. A Black woman who didn’t put down her eyes and act demure, but also refused to be shoved into the “Angry Black Woman” stereotype had been something else, especially when he was twenty, and didn’t realize yet that those stereotypes were a thing for a reason. He’d loved her with his whole being, and sometimes he still missed her. But he’d stopped carrying a torch for her a long time ago. She was gone, and part of him would always love her. More of him would always love Mia. Though having someone in his life to love would be better than mourning the woman who’d died when he was still essentially a child.

  He found himself taking a couple of quick steps to catch up to Emma, and then reaching out, taking her hand in his, and smiling. She looked startled for just a moment, surprised at the familiarity of the motion. After all, they’d traded sexual innuendo and heat, not any kind of actual attraction. But after a moment, she smiled back, settling her fingers into his grip, and adjusting her pace to match his.

  It was clear that she cared about Mia. She hadn’t asked awkward questions about his life, or Mia, or why this was all happening. She just wanted to help. That was worth so much. For the first time, he felt a certain kinship with her, not just a need for the relief he thought he might find in her body, or a feeling that he had to keep her with him to make sure she didn’t call the police. Something more. It was nice. A warm, delicate feeling. He enjoyed it as they walked down to the car. She slid into the Buick with the same reverence he had. He liked that, too.

  He drove them across town. At some point, he needed to pick up his bike from the clubhouse. He’d be able to get around town more nimbly, and it would be simpler. He could trade out his plain leather jacket for the one with the club colors and brand. He hadn’t worn it racing, just in case some random cop with a hard on for extra-judiciary justice saw him at the gravel pit and decided to express his displeasure, but for whatever came next? He thought it might be necessary. To show that he was “not the man with whom to fuck” (as the old movie quotation went).

  The Night Titans Clubhouse was, as so many club hangouts were, located just behind the garage that he and Connell had started when he got out of school. Connell had been working there for a decade already. When his old boss finally retired, the two of them managed to scrape together the money to buy the place from him. In reality, Connell had scraped together the money, and Dean had spent years owing him, working for not much money, and the apartment above the garage, as a place to sleep.

  But over time, they’d worked various things out, and Connell said they were now square. Of course, Dean’s rise to VP of the club had made a difference as well. They worked together, and well, not just in the clubhouse or on the floor of the garage, but as friends. They understood each other.

  When he and Emma pulled into the parking area in front of the garage, his every nerve was screaming, and not just because of the beautiful woman who had taken his hand whenever it wasn’t resting on the shifter. No, he was potentially walking into a war zone that could take his daughter’s life.

  When he shut off the engine, he murmured to Emma, “Hold on a second.” He forced himself not to hurry around the car to open her door, taking his time and keeping his body relaxed. When he held the door open for Emma, his heart skittered to a brief halt. How had she changed so much in one car ride? Gone was the quiet and demure downcast eyes, the slightly reserved posture. She’d changed her makeup, but that wasn’t it. Her entire body was a statement. She looked like every girl he’d ever brought here, every girl who had ever caught his attention, and it was more than just the clothes or the curves. She looked powerful. Transformative.

  She followed him across the lot and into the garage. The bay closest to the office was empty, as it often was, and Connell was sitting on a stool, with several of the other club members standing around him. A few mechanics were working on the cars in the full bays, not paying much attention. The sun was nearly down – Dean was surprised they were still working at all. Everyone looked at him evenly, neither challenging nor avoiding his gaze. That felt like a good sign. If Connell had pulled all the members in to create some sort of takedown, he doubted that everyone would be this easily committed.

  Connell gave a jerky nod as Dean approached, Emma just a half pace behind him. It was interesting how she’d put herself slightly behind and to the side of him. He’d seen her body, top to bottom, while she’d been dressing in her room, and she didn’t have any ink. She could have been in combustible situations like this without ever picking up a gang affiliation, he supposed, but it seemed unlikely. At least, for his world. But right now, she seemed to be easily straddling the line between arm candy and ally, and it was just one more thing that made him fascinated by her.

  “No luck yet on either of them,” Connell said, but his gaze was now locked on Emma. “You find anything?”

  “Not yet,” Dean replied. “Abbey’s place has been swept. I don’t like that at all.

  “No, I don’t either. You think this has something to do with the Titans?”

  Dean gave a shrug that was supposed to look noncommittal. “Hard to tell. I can’t figure any other reason that someone would be after her. She doesn’t have enough money or power to attract really big attention, and she hasn’t been dating anyone recently. It’s unlikely there’s someone out there doing a snatch and grab. I’m her closest tie to anything on the dark side. What I can’t figure out is how the hell someone connected us.”

  Connell gave a loose shrug that Dean realized was carefully designed to mirror his own. “I dunno, man. You do plenty for that lady and her kid.” Was there an emphasis on the word her? Maybe? It was hard to tell. Clearly, he was overanalyzing everything at the moment.

  But if he didn’t want to completely blow his cover and destroy everything he’d been working for, he was going to need to at least pretend that he was cool, calm, and collected – that Abbey was just some random girl he helped out. He opened his mouth to ask Connell for suggestions on their next move, but what came out was, “Are you fucking kidding me? Stop pissing on me and telling me it’s raining.”

  There was an ugly skidding noise that made Emma flinch next to him as the feet of Connell’s stool scraped hard against the concrete. He didn’t so much stand as he became upright, a mean glare over his face. Dean had to fight to straighten his spine. He’d seen that ugly anger in Connell’s eyes more than once, but never before directed at him.

  “I think we should take this into the office,” Connell said, his voice snapping with tension.

  It wasn’t how Dean had planned to get the other man alone, but it was better than nothing. He jerked his head at Emma to tell her to follow along.

  Connell shook his head. “Nope. The girl stays.”

  “The girl comes,” Dean replied, then winced at his wording. The guys around him laughed, and Connell cracked the edge of a smile.

  “Does she now? Well then, fine. We’ll make it a party.”

  Chapter Eight

  Emma

  Emma watched the conversation unfold, surprised that no one was questioning her presence. What type of man was Dean? Did he regularly drag random women into this clubhouse so that they didn’t bother to ask? She’d been taunting him all afternoon, in part as a distraction to herself from how very frightened she was for Mia. And if she were entirely honest, in part because it had been a few months since she’d had satisfying sex with something that wasn’t battery run or attached to her own body. Quick encounters, brief flings, sure, but nothing that scratched her deepest itches. When he’d put her up against that wall in the bathroom, and slapped the phone out of her hands, the fear had connected with her desire and flamed through her, sending her into a surprising wash of need. She was pretty sure she’d do almost anything he asked her to do right now if it meant easing the ache that was roaring through her.

  But a different kind of fear made its way inside her heart as Connell and Dean made t
heir way towards the office. She obviously needed to follow them — staying out here wasn’t going to be any kind of solution — but she’d seen enough gangster movies and been sidelined at enough shady situations to feel really uncomfortable with stepping out of the public eye. Dean she knew and trusted, a little, but there was no one else in the room that she could say either of those things about. And while she trusted herself to talk her way out of almost any interaction, getting out of physical trouble was something very different.

  She was going to have to trust Dean more.

  She tried to keep her hands from shaking as she followed the two men into the office.

  The door had barely closed behind them when Connell turned around, a lascivious grin on his wind-reddened face.

  “Hiya, Teach,” he said, not bothering to control his gaze as he looked Emma up and down. “Dean thought he should dress you up so you’d fit in?”