Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)

by Jen McLaughlin

  His voice softened even more. “Heidi . . .”

  “Don’t.” I walked over to my computer and stared down at my shopping list. If he went all pity-boy on me again, I’d put an entire container of salt on his half of dinner. “Will you do it, or would you rather I run out and—?”

  “Hell no.” Annnd there went the softness. Good. I didn’t want or need it. It made him way too . . . approachable. “Don’t even think about leaving that apartment.” A door opened behind him, and I heard a muffled voice. He let out a long breath. “Yeah, I’ll be right in.” Then, to me, he said, “Send me the list. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks,” I said, staring at the photo on his fridge. It was of a man who had red-tinged brown hair and green eyes who looked like Lucas but definitely wasn’t actually him. I’d place him around my age, maybe twenty-five or so. It was the only personal photo he had in his whole apartment. “See you later.”

  “All right.”

  He hung up without saying good-bye, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest, and I leaned against the counter, still staring at that photo. Was that his brother? The one who had thought Lucas was half fish? It very well might be him, but if so . . . he was very different from Lucas. While Lucas was cautious and guarded, he still had that spark of life inside him that told you exactly how alive he was. But this guy looked cold and dead in the eyes. As if nothing and no one mattered to him at all.

  Like all he cared about was himself and what he could get out of life.

  I sat down on the couch and pulled up the drink recipes I wanted to try out later tonight. I always had lots of guys in my bar, but now it was time to try to draw in the ladies. So I had researched a slew of fruity cocktails to test out. After I sent my shopping list to Lucas, I put the lasagna in the oven, dusted off my hands, and smiled. This might not be a real relationship, but tonight felt . . . nice.

  I scanned the apartment. I’d cleaned today, too. I was never one to sit around twiddling my thumbs, so this wasn’t any exception. Sure, I’d been forbidden from leaving, but I had to do something to keep myself occupied. I’d spent the better half of the morning pacing, bored out of my mind. I’d been about five seconds from going into the shop downstairs and begging to do some clerical work, before I’d decided to try my hand at being productive up here. And it had been—

  A knock sounded on the door, and I jumped.

  I stared at it, not moving. I wasn’t supposed to leave, or answer the door, for anyone. I was under strict orders to avoid contact with the outside world at all costs, unless Lucas was at my side. I found it all to be a bit over-the-top, but I’d decided to honor his wishes. So I wasn’t opening that door.

  Holding my breath, I didn’t dare move.

  The person outside knocked again. “Open up, Lucas. I know you’re in there. I can smell the garlic from out here, and I’m hungry as hell, so you’re gonna share. It’s been years since you cooked for me.” The doorknob jiggled. “Stop fucking around and let me in. We need to talk. Now.”

  I tiptoed into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest butcher knife I could find, and backed myself into the corner. I didn’t open my mouth or make a noise, because I was hoping whoever was out there would go away. Give up and—

  Metal rubbed up against metal, and the distinct sound of a key sliding into place made me stiffen. Shit, he had a key. I bolted for Lucas’s room at the same time the door opened, hoping to hide before I was sighted, but I was too slow to make it before I was seen. A muffled masculine curse came from somewhere behind me, and I ran faster, but not fast enough. Strong arms closed around me from behind, and I slashed at him with my knife, missing pathetically.

  Screw being quiet. It was time to make some noise. “Let go of me! Help me!”

  “Fucking—” He grunted and slapped a hand over my mouth with one hand, while yanking my wrist painfully to the side with the other. The sharp pain almost caused my fingers to let go, but I bit down on the attacker’s hand as hard as I could. He jerked away before I could do any real damage, shaking his hand off, then slammed it across my throat, cutting off my supply of oxygen. “Son of a bitch.”

  I gasped in a breath. It was hard, because he was crushing me. “Get off me, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” he growled in my ear, twisting my wrist even more and tightening his arm across my neck. “Who are you, and why are you in Lucas’s apartment? Tell me, as quickly as possible, or I’ll kill you.”

  “Go to hell,” I gritted out between struggling breaths. It hurt more than I’d like to admit, or ever would admit. “As quickly as possible.”

  “Have it your way, then,” he growled, yanking on my wrist even harder.

  I lost the battle to hold on to my weapon. The knife hit the floor with a clang, and I followed it. He slammed me into the floor, trapping my hands behind my back and holding on with a death grip. My pulse skyrocketed, and I was sure that this was going to be it. The Bitter Hill gang had come to finish me off.

  And this time Lucas wouldn’t be able to stop them.

  Leaning down, he pressed his elbow into my upper back and said, “I repeat, who are you, and where is Lucas? What have you done to him?”

  “N-nothing,” I stammered. “Get the hell off me.”

  He yanked on my wrist even more, and I hissed through my teeth. He let up slightly. “Answer me.”

  I rolled my head to the side so I could look at him out of the corner of my eye. An attractive man with dark brown hair and matching eyes had me pinned to the floor. He had a bit of a five-o’clock shadow going on, and from what I could see of them . . . his muscles were hard and defined under his brown leather jacket.

  The same Steel Row jacket that Lucas wore.

  Were they friends, then?

  Since he had a key, the possibility was likely. But Lucas had told me to trust no one. I shook my head as best as I could with him on top of me, and the floor pressed up against my face. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t worry about who I am,” he growled. “Convince me why I shouldn’t fucking kill you, right here, right now, for being in my boy’s apartment.”

  “Fine. He invited me here,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible. “I’m living here for a little while. We’re—”

  “Bullshit,” he said, snorting. He tightened his grip on my wrist. “Lucas would never let a girl move in with him. Ever.”

  I bit down on my tongue to keep the groan of pain from escaping. “He did. I swear it.”

  “Why would he do that?” he asked, jerking on my wrist a little more.

  The pain blinded me, and despite my most valiant efforts, I gasped. “Twist my arm any harder, and you’ll break it.”

  He let up on me a little bit. “Answer. Me.”

  “I’m his . . . girlfriend.”

  He laughed. Actually laughed. “Sure. And I’m the pope.”

  “But—” Footsteps on the stairs sounded, and I grinned. “You’ll see. He’s home, and he doesn’t like it when other men threaten me.”

  It might have been my imagination, but the man straddling me stiffened.

  The door flew open, and Lucas came charging in, gun drawn. As soon as he saw me on the ground, with my attacker on top of me, he froze. “Chris. What the fuck are you doing?”

  The man shot me a look, and for the first time since he’d attacked me, he seemed a little less sure of himself. “I came to talk to you and used the key you gave me. When I came in, I caught her running through your place with a big-ass knife, so . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence but shrugged casually.

  Lucas rubbed his jaw, staring Chris down with stony silence. “So you tackled her to the floor and straddled her? Get the hell off her, man.”

  Chris loosened his grip on me. “But who is she, and why is she in your apartment alone? She claimed to be your girlfriend, which we both know can’t be true.”

  “Shit.” Lucas kicked the door shut but didn’t lower his gun. “Get off her, or I’ll kill you. Now.”

&n
bsp; Chris blinked. “But—”

  Lucas crossed the room, his lip curled in anger. Every step he took vibrated with fury and frustration. “I said, get. The. Fuck. Off her.”

  “All right, man. Easy.” Chris got off me instantly, lurching to his feet easily. I rolled over onto my back so I could keep an eye on him, cradling my wrist in my uninjured hand. When he caught sight of me, he froze. “Well, shit. If I’d gotten a real look at her, I wouldn’t have questioned why you let her stay with you.”

  I was about to tell him that that her was right here, and he needed to stop talking about me as if I wasn’t, but Lucas shoved him backward. His face was red and his movements were jerkier than usual. I’d never seen him look so pissed before. “Don’t even think about her like that. She’s mine. Understood?”

  “Dude, I wasn’t trying to take her or anything. I was just saying she’s—”

  “Mine,” Lucas repeated, shoving him against the light blue wall. “And if you touch her again, I’ll fucking gut you like a fish.”

  Chris held his hands up, a skeptical look taking over his expression. “Seriously, man?”

  “Seriously.” He let go of his friend and backed off but gripped the butt of his gun. “Understood, man?”

  Chris stared back at Lucas for a few seconds, and I held my breath. Finally, Chris let out a breath and nodded. “Okay. I get it. She’s yours.”

  A muscle ticked in Lucas’s jaw, and he held his hand down to me. When he glanced at me, I could still see the anger seething in the green depths of his eyes, but they gradually softened to the mist green hue I was so familiar with. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  “Yeah.” I slid my hand into his, shooting Chris a nervous look. Lucas trusted this man—obviously, since he’d turned his back on him—but he’d been holding me to the floor moments ago. I didn’t trust him at all. Cradling my injured wrist to my chest, I rubbed it absentmindedly. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” He skimmed his fingers over my wrist, his jaw flexing. “Damn it. It’s going to bruise.”

  Chris cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. When Lucas merely glowered at Chris, I wiggled my fingers in his. “Hey. I said I’m fine. He was just trying to protect you.”

  Lucas didn’t answer me. Just went on looking pissed as hell. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and I swore I could literally see him plotting Chris’s murder.

  And it was ugly.

  Chris cleared his throat. “Look, man, I’m sorry, okay? I thought she was trespassing—or worse, working for Scotty.”

  “She’s not,” Lucas said quickly, dragging his hand through his wavy hair and shooting a quick glance at me. “She’s not in the life at all, so shut up.”

  “Well . . .” Chris tipped his head toward me. “She kinda is now.”

  That muscle in Lucas’s jaw ticked again.

  “Who is this Scotty guy, anyway?” I asked, studying them both.

  Neither one answered me.

  I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. “Lucas.”

  “Heidi,” he said back, using the same threatening tone I’d used with him. The smirk I was all too familiar with slipped into place. At least he no longer looked murderous. “He’s no one you need to worry about, darlin’.”

  Chris shifted his weight. “We need to talk.” He paused. “Alone.”

  “Of course.” Lucas tipped my face up with his fingers under my chin. His touch was tender. “Hey, dinner smells delicious, but I didn’t get those things you asked for, so I’m gonna run down the street and get them with Chris. I’ll be home in five minutes.”

  Chris made a choking sound.

  Lucas glowered at him.

  “Okay,” I finally said.

  He let go of me and motioned for Chris to follow him. They walked out the door, and I was left there alone, with my arms wrapped around myself, wondering what the hell was going on, who this Scotty guy was . . .

  And why Lucas looked so upset at the mere mention of his name.

  CHAPTER 13

  LUCAS

  I shut the door behind me, stepped outside, and leaned against the brick wall. The freezing night air seeped through my veins almost instantly, and I huffed out a breath. Impact wrenches buzzed behind me, and something clanged on the concrete floor of the shop. Across the way, I could make out the lights of the stadium, and I could smell the stench of the docks if I tried hard enough. Snow fell from the sky again, the kind that fluttered down majestically in big white tufts.

  It looked so pure and fresh until it hit the ground . . .

  And everything got muddled together in a big fucking mess. Just like life. It all looked good till the shit hit the fan, like it inevitably did.

  “Okay, time to talk.” Chris shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. “What the hell are you thinking, man? Bringing a girl like that into this world?”

  “She’s tougher than she looks,” I said, still watching the snow falling from the black sky above. “Don’t underestimate her.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” Chris muttered. “But still . . . why?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted honestly, for once in my fucking life. “I wasn’t thinking at all. She needed me, and I came to the rescue like an idiot.”

  “Wait.” Chris scratched his head. “You came to the rescue?”

  “I know, right?” I shrugged. “But she was about to be raped by some Bitter Hill men. I couldn’t just stand there and say nothing. I might be an asshole, but even I have to draw the line somewhere.”

  Chris dropped his hand back to his side. “Damn. You’re right, of course, but this new intel makes my news even worse.”

  I blinked. “How so?”

  “Never mind for now.” He whistled through his teeth and looked over his shoulder. “What did you do to them?”

  “Killed two and sent the other one home with a message.”

  “You should’ve killed—”

  “Them all.” I stared up at the sky. “Yeah, I know that now.”

  Chris shook his head, his irritation seething off him in waves. “Does Tate know about all of this?”

  “Yeah. He was cool with it, but now she’s my girlfriend, for all intents and purposes.” Lifting a shoulder, I added, “Whether we like it or not.”

  “You better make sure she doesn’t think it’s for good.” He scratched his chin and glanced up at the window of my living room. The curtains were drawn, so there was nothing to see. “She looks awfully comfortable in your place.”

  “Believe me—she’s as unhappy about this situation as I am. She’s just trying to make the best of a shitty situation, because that’s the type of person she is.” I started down the sidewalk, and Chris fell into step beside me. “Neither of us wanted this.”

  That much was true. But if I was being honest with myself, which I wasn’t, having her around the apartment didn’t exactly make me unhappy.

  “So when you acted as if I’d attacked your most prized possession up there, and you threatened my life if I ever touched her again . . .” He shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. “That was all for show? Does she mean nothing to you at all?”

  I didn’t answer, and I wasn’t going to, because it was none of his damn business.

  Yeah, I’d lost my shit up there when I’d found him on top of her. She was supposed to be safe inside those walls. Not threatened and thrown on the floor by someone who was a stranger to her. Seeing Chris on top of Heidi like that . . .

  It had messed with me.

  At first, I’d been terrified she’d be dead. Chris was the type to shoot first and ask questions later. And once I’d realized she was breathing, the relief had set in, followed quickly by the jealousy. I’d never been jealous before. Over anyone or anything.

  And I didn’t like starting now, with her.

  “Hmm . . .” Chris said, side-eyeing me.

  “Shut the hell up,” I growled. “No one asked you. And I seem to remember a time when you
were so sure you wanted to marry Suzy Maxwell, like a fucking tool, after you fell for her in a shady-ass strip club. Where she worked. For ten years.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough. But I was eighteen, and she gave one hell of a lap dance.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I grinned and dug my hands deep into my pockets. “We all know.”

  Chris punched my arm. “Fuck you.”

  “She always liked doing that, too,” I teased, laughing when Chris growled. I shrugged. “But, honestly, it always seemed to me that you had a thing for Molly Lachlan. Every time she came outside when I was over your house, you lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  Chris stiffened. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, whatever, man.”

  “I didn’t,” Chris argued, his whole body stiff. He acted as if I’d witnessed some big, deep secret of his and not some silly little crush he’d had as a child. “I never liked her, and never would. She’s a fucking kindergarten teacher.”

  “Yeah.” I snorted. “Maybe you’re right. The two of you would be a disaster. Suzy the Stripper’s more your speed.”

  He punched my arm and laughed, but it sounded strained. “You’re lucky I swore off her, as well as any and all relationships.” He gave me a meaningful look, his forehead wrinkled. “We both did. In this life, marriage just isn’t a smart idea.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I lifted a shoulder. “Believe me—we’re not getting married. For real, or for show. She’s a temporary distraction, and that’s all.”

  He nodded. “Just make sure she’s not distracting you too much. Now’s not the time to let your guard down.”

  “Noted,” I said dryly. Stopping in front of the store, I opened the door and Chris went in first. After I grabbed a basket, I headed straight for the liquor. “Why did you come by? What’s up?”

  Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “I saw him earlier today. He was at Charlie’s, and he was in a small group of guys—about four. One guess who they were.”