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

by Jen McLaughlin

  I tensed but forced a nonchalant shrug, even though I had a feeling I knew exactly who they were. After all, I’d seen it yesterday, too, even though I didn’t want to admit it. “I have no idea.”

  “Bitter Hill.”

  I froze midreach, dread hitting the bottom of my stomach like a fucking anvil. All the suspicion, all the doubts . . . yeah. They’d just blown up in my face. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Chris said, his voice so low I almost didn’t hear him. He glanced around the empty store before continuing on. “They were in the corner, whispering and drinking. And I saw money exchanged. Looks like he’s been watching you and decided to use the enemy to take care of his own issues. If Bitter Hill takes you out, no one will suspect him. Especially after what you did to them. It’s ingenious, really. Don’t you think?”

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered, grabbing vodka off the shelf.

  My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out. It was a text from Heidi. Don’t forget the grenadine.

  I jotted off a fast reply. I won’t. Almost done.

  It felt weird typing that to someone who was waiting for me to come home. Weird . . . but not in a bad way. She’d cooked dinner for me. No one had cooked a meal for me since before Ma got sick. After she died, I’d had to take over the duty. Someone had to feed Scotty, because he sure as hell hadn’t been about to do it himself. Through trial and error, I’d taught myself. And I’d become pretty damn good at it, too.

  But Heidi had cooked for me.

  I tucked my phone away. When I glanced up, Chris was watching me with a frown. “What?” I snapped, grabbing a bottle of rum, too.

  “You just smiled at a text message like a little girl, right after I told you something that should have you breaking shit.” He shifted on his feet, something shadowing his eyes. “What the hell is up with you, man?”

  Had I smiled? I hadn’t even noticed. I yanked down some Pucker before grabbing another. “I wasn’t smiling at the message. I was smiling at the thought of ripping your throat out with my bare hands.”

  “While drinking an appletini?” Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah. So threatening, man.”

  “How do you know this Pucker shit goes into an appletini?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “They’re good, when you’re in the mood for something sweet. I’m not ashamed.”

  We both laughed.

  He sobered first.

  “Look, Lucas, it’s going down. You should really come up with a plan of defense. Go to Tate and tell—”

  I stiffened. “No.”

  “But—”

  “No.” I slammed a bottle of grenadine in the basket. “I’m not ratting out my little brother. End of story.”

  “Even if he kills you?”

  “If he kills me, there will be no need to decide anything at all.” I grabbed the last bottle I needed before heading for the register. “Problem solved.”

  Chris made an angry sound I couldn’t even begin to describe. “That’s not funny.”

  “I never said it was,” I snapped. “But I won’t turn on him.”

  “Fine, then.” He held his hands out. “Tell me your plan. Go on. Let me hear it. I’m sure it’s brilliant as hell, right?”

  I stayed silent, because I didn’t have one. Not yet.

  I’d only just accepted that he was actually trying to pop me.

  “Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he said, his tone hard. “You’re just going to be the dutiful older brother you’ve always been, and what? Hold the target on your chest so he can aim properly when he kills you, and praise him on his aim as you fall to the ground?”

  “Better that than dying slow. Don’t underestimate the importance of a clean shot.”

  Chris slammed his fist on the counter. “Luc.”

  I knew why he was frustrated. I got it. But if he thought I hadn’t been racking my brain nonstop over the past day and a half over what the hell to do about this whole mess, then he didn’t know me at all. It had been all I’d been thinking about.

  But I didn’t know what to fucking do about it.

  “I’ll fix it, damn it,” I growled.

  “There’s nothing to fix. You can’t cure him from being a jackass.”

  I smirked. “I dunno. With advancements in modern science, there’s gotta be a pill for it by now. Maybe I’ll ask around.”

  “Whatever. Go ahead. Let him kill you. I won’t come to your funeral.” Chris pushed off the counter and strode toward the door. “Asshole.”

  After he left, the cashier came up, and I paid for my items. As I walked down the sidewalk, I dialed and lifted my phone to my ear. It rang three times before he answered.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Hey, Scotty.” I cleared my throat. “It’s me, Lucas.”

  He laughed. It sounded fake as hell. “Yeah, I know. I can read the caller ID. What’s up, bro?”

  Someone laughed, dishes clanged together, and loud music boomed in the background. He was still at the bar, more than likely. “Just checking in. We haven’t chatted much since I’ve gotten out. How are things going on your end?”

  “Good.”

  That was it. Just a one-word answer. I gripped the phone tighter and stopped in front of the shop. “Where you at?”

  “Oh, you know.” He took a while to answer. “Just hanging at home with some of my boys from my crew. Shooting the shit.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah.” He paused. “That’s so.”

  Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes. I knew that soft tone of voice Scotty was currently using. It was his lying voice. I’d always teased him about it as a kid. When he lied, his voice rose in pitch just the slightest bit.

  I’d first noticed it when he’d eaten my last chocolate bunny from my Easter basket. He’d still had the chocolate on his face, all over his chubby cheeks, and I’d asked him what had happened to it. He’d looked me flat in the eye and said he didn’t know—with a hitch to his voice. From that point on, I’d noticed that every time he’d lied to me or Ma, his voice would change. It was doing it now, too.

  And it hurt like hell.

  I looked down at the snow. It was already gray and filthy. The purity hadn’t lasted long. It never did. “You want to meet up for drinks? Shoot the shit? Haven’t seen much of you since I got out.”

  “I can’t. Maybe some other time.”

  I nodded once. “All right, then. Hey, have you seen any of the Bitter Hill guys hanging around our territory? There’s been a rumor that they were stirring up trouble earlier, and Tate wanted me to check into it before I went home for the night.”

  A long pause, and then: “Nah, man. I haven’t seen a single one. But I stayed home the past two days with that chick I hooked, so I’m not the most reliable source for that type of intel.”

  I stiffened and glanced up toward the window again. Another lie. But I didn’t need my trick to know it this time. After all, I’d seen him with my own two eyes. As I turned away, something red and black caught my eye. I crept around the side of the building, my heart thudding loudly in my ears, echoing like some sick kind of ticking clock, counting down to D-day.

  My shop had been tagged by Bitter Hill.

  Son of a bitch. Scotty, the same boy whom I’d told fairy-tale stories to until three a.m. whenever he had nightmares as a kid, had put a price on my head. I glared up at the sky, forcing myself to keep my tone neutral. Motherfucker. Out loud I said, “Okay, good. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Scotty hung up, and I gripped my phone so tightly I’m surprised it didn’t crack under the pressure. If I’d had any doubts about his true loyalties . . .

  They’d just been torn to shreds.

  What the hell had happened when I’d been serving my time? What could have changed my little brother so damn much that he wanted to kill me? Scotty had always been a bit selfish and shortsighted, but fratricide? When had he become someone capable of that?

  A small—o
kay, huge—part of me blamed myself.

  I couldn’t help it, since I’d practically raised the little fucker and all. Maybe it was something I’d done or said. Maybe I hadn’t been enough of a parent figure to him after Ma died. I’d been all he had after she’d passed. I’d tried my best, but I’d been nothing more than a kid myself.

  When I joined the Sons of Steel Row after Ma fell ill, we finally had the money to pay our bills and put food on the table, but she hadn’t approved of where the money came from. Had refused the money I’d tried to give her, so instead, I’d bought groceries and paid off her mortgage behind her back . . . whether she’d liked it or not.

  I’d done what needed to be done.

  But she’d died, and all Scotty had was me to look up to.

  No wonder he was fucked-up like he was. I wasn’t a role model and never would be. I’d joined this life because it had been a challenge, and we’d needed money, so I’d accepted the challenge. I’d worked my ass off to gain their trust, and then I’d worked even harder. When Scotty had followed in my footsteps and joined, too, I’d welcomed him into the fold with open arms. And look what had come of it. This.

  I had no clue what to do with him now, but turning him in to Tate wasn’t an option. In the end, he might need to die, but he didn’t need to be ripped to shreds by the Sons. And I wasn’t ready to give up on him yet. There had to be a way for me to redeem him. To show him what he was doing was wrong and guide him down the correct path . . . whatever the hell that was. He was my little brother. I’d practically raised him. I couldn’t just give up on him.

  It couldn’t be too late, damn it.

  I tore my gaze off the tag that changed everything, made one more quick stop at the hardware store across the street, then opened the downstairs door, climbing the stairs one slow step at a time. Music played, and the welcoming scent of lasagna hit me halfway up. I paused for a second, taking it all in.

  Outside, life was hell and dark. But in here . . .

  It was like a whole other world. One I liked.

  She sang along to whatever song was playing, her voice soft, musical, and intoxicating. The way she acted, the way she was, was so different from anyone else I’d ever known, besides my ma. Maybe that’s why I’d rescued her from Bitter Hill. She had a freshness to her that drew a dirty soul like me in. She wasn’t from the same twisted world that I was from.

  Not until I’d pulled her in.

  But what else should I have done? Let her get raped, killed, left for the rats and the roaches . . . or worse? Bitter Hill had their hands in human trafficking, too. There was no telling what they would’ve done with her once they were finished.

  There hadn’t been any other choice. I’d had to save her.

  And now I had to save her from myself, too.

  I might not be able to run anymore, but she could. I could give her my one-man escape plan and send her on her way. Kiss my chance at starting a new life good-bye.

  Scotty had taken that from me.

  But Heidi needed to get the hell outta Boston, and I was going to do everything in my power to make that happen before Scotty launched his attack. I couldn’t let her get caught in the cross fire.

  No matter what I decided, what I did, I couldn’t let Scotty hurt Heidi.

  I pushed the door open and walked in, forcing a grin to my face as I juggled the door and the bags. “Honey, I’m home.”

  “Now who’s being domestic?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, kicking the door shut behind me. “When in Rome . . .”

  Laughing, she motioned me into the kitchen. Her resilience constantly amazed me. Minutes ago, she’d been attacked, and now she was singing, dancing, and cooking as if nothing had ever happened. She was so strong and fierce, and she needed to stay that way. If push came to shove, I’d do what I needed to do to keep her safe, whether she was willing or not.

  I’d do what needed to be done, like I always did.

  And she’d damn well take my escape plan and run.

  “Did you get everything?” she asked, pulling the lasagna out and setting it on the waiting potholders she’d put out on the counter. “I know it was quite the extensive list.”

  “Yeah. It was practically the whole store,” I said, nudging her with my elbow playfully. I loved how the top of her head came up only to the bottom of my shoulders. “Are we having a party I don’t know about? Or did our fake relationship drive you to drink already?”

  Closing the oven with her hip, she took the mitts off and blew her hair out of her face. She wore a black tank top and a pair of yoga pants. She had little to no makeup on, and her blond hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders. If I wasn’t mistaken, she didn’t have a bra on underneath her shirt. She looked relaxed and at home. I’d never seen her look more gorgeous.

  And I was dying to see if I was right about the no-bra situation.

  “Neither option. I want to try to get more women into the bar, so I want to try out a few ‘Girls’ Night Out’ drinks to put on special a few nights a week.” With her forearm, she swept the lingering hair out of her face. “I’m going to make them tonight and see which ones are a hit.”

  “So you’ll be shitfaced before nine.” I crossed my arms and gave her a once-over. A steaming mug of tea sat on the counter, half-empty already. I’d gone to three different stores before I found some tea that would fit in my Keurig, since she’d mentioned she liked to drink it when stressed. I’d have to dump it all in the garbage when she left, because I hated the shit. “Sounds like an excellent plan.”

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed her wallet off the counter. “How much do I owe you for the booze and the tea?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Lucas—”

  “I said nothing.” I pushed off the counter and took two plates out of the cabinet. “I’ll be drinking tonight, too, so it’s only fair I pay, since you’re making them for us.”

  She blinked at me. “You want to drink cocktails? Call me crazy, but they don’t seem like they’re your thing. You’re more of a whiskey guy.”

  “Yeah, but you can’t have a successful experiment without test subjects.” I pointed to my chest. “And I am your very willing subject.”

  She didn’t talk for a second, just stared at me, all rosy cheeks and blue eyes. I was two seconds from taking it back. It was a stupid idea and an even stupider sentiment.

  What the hell had I been think—?

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Her sapphire eyes glowed with that certain something that told me she was thinking how nice I was. “I’d appreciate that.”

  I frowned. “Stop it. You’re doing it again.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled. She didn’t need to ask what I was yelling at her for anymore. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad. “Want to punch me in the face to remind me how horrible you truly are?”

  I cupped her chin, gently guiding her face toward mine. She joked about it, but it wasn’t a joke to me. “I might be an asshole and a killer and a criminal . . . but I’d never, ever lay a finger on you. Not in a million years.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think you really do.” I skimmed my fingers over her soft skin. “I’d die before letting anyone hurt you, whether that person’s myself or someone else.”

  She licked her lips, those eyes of hers still glowing that same damn way. But for once, I didn’t care. “Lucas . . .” Hesitantly, she lifted up on tiptoe, rested her hands on my shoulders, and pressed her lips to my cheek. I caught her hips in my hands, holding on to her tightly, but I didn’t pull her closer. Didn’t try to make it into something it wasn’t. As she pulled back, she pressed her palm over my heart and smiled up at me. “You might not be a nice guy, or someone I should like, but tough shit. I do like you. I like you a lot, and nothing you say or do will change that.”

  I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry as the Sahara. “You shouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, well. I do.”

&
nbsp; She kissed me one last time, on the mouth this time. Her lips barely touched mine, in all reality, and the whole thing lasted two seconds, if that. It had been the slightest of touches, barely a kiss at all, and innocent as the fresh-fallen snow I’d been watching earlier. It had been a gesture of gratitude and friendship, and I knew it. But even knowing that . . .

  It affected me more than any other kiss I’d ever had before.

  And that scared the hell out of me.

  CHAPTER 14

  HEIDI

  A couple of hours later, I mixed the next drink on my list, tapping my foot along to the music I’d started playing after Chris and Lucas had left. Surprisingly, Lucas had kept it on throughout dinner, and even after, while we’d talked. And we’d certainly talked. A lot. Maybe he’d sensed that when I was nervous, I needed a beat to distract me from the shit storm my life usually was. It soothed me and made me less jittery. And after that attack from Chris, I’d needed to soothe my nerves way too freaking badly.

  Tea hadn’t been enough.

  I stole a quick peek at him. He sat at the dining room table, his legs stretched straight under the table, slouched back in his chair. He’d changed into a pair of jeans and a tight T-shirt—blue, of course—and his reddish-brown hair stood on end from him dragging his hands through it all night long. He’d been doing that a lot.

  I had a feeling that calmed his nerves, much like my tea and music.

  All night long, he’d been sipping my cocktails and chatting me up over lasagna, all while acting charming and funny the whole damn time. This would be his third drink. An appletini, this time. He’d been the picture-perfect gentleman—despite the slightly dangerous edge he could never completely hide from the world—for the entire evening. The kind of guy I could never resist. As much as Lucas might not be a “good man” by society’s standards, he’d been nothing but kind to me.

  If that didn’t make him a “good man,” I didn’t know what did. Maybe it was the buzz talking, or maybe it was the way I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing he’d made me feel for the one minute I’d given him the other night, and during the kiss outside the stadium. Maybe it was something I couldn’t even begin to name. All I knew was . . .