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

by Jen McLaughlin

  I crossed my arms again, watching him as he slowly turned back to me. I could see he was in pain by the thin sheen of sweat coating his skin. He’d never admit it, but he was. The fight in me receded, and worry took over again. I almost preferred the fight. “Why anyone would want to work with a guy like him is beyond me.”

  His jaw ticked. His impassive façade had slipped away, and he grimaced as he walked past me. “Because we needed something, and he was willing to give it to us. That’s why.”

  I followed him. “What did you need?”

  “Money to pay my mom’s medical bills. And to pay our rent.” He grabbed a beer and popped it open. “And to put food in my little brother’s mouth. Listening to him cry every night because his belly hurt got really old really fast.”

  I . . . I had nothing to say to that. I’d been expecting some snarky, smart-ass reply about how it was none of my damn business. Not that. “Oh.”

  He took a swig of his beer. “Yeah.”

  Not knowing what to say to that kind of honesty, I made myself busy serving pizza. He settled into the couch, grunting once as he adjusted himself, and crossed an ankle over his knee. I handed him pizza on a paper plate. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” He set his beer down and took it. “You’re eating, too.”

  It wasn’t a question. I answered anyway. “Yep.”

  Once I’d gotten myself a slice and a beer, I settled in beside him. We ate in companionable silence, my mind on his earlier statement about joining the gang because he’d needed cash for his mother. I’d assumed he’d always been in that life, because that’s how gangs like the Sons of Steel Row worked. Blood.

  But with him, that wasn’t the case. No, he’d joined to freaking feed his family. It only made me love him more, when I already loved him too much.

  Especially considering he didn’t love me back.

  “Typical,” I muttered under my breath.

  He blinked at me. “What’s typical?”

  “Uh . . .” I glanced at the pizza. “They didn’t use enough seasoning.”

  “Tastes fine to me,” he said, clearly not buying my half-assed excuse, and finished his first slice. “I have oregano in the kitchen if you want it.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He cocked a brow. “The one phrase in the English language that never means what it should.”

  I shrugged but didn’t answer. “Did you have a nice nap?”

  “Yeah. I was out.” He scratched his head. “What did you do while I slept?”

  Slept with you, then crawled away like it never happened. “Not much.” I motioned to the ledgers on the table, my cheeks hot. “Marco brought these up for me so I could stay home with you tonight. He’s covering the bar for me. I don’t want you to be alone in case . . . you know. You start bleeding again or something.”

  His brow furrowed. “Oh, right. You were supposed to work tonight.”

  “Yeah. I called off tomorrow, too.”

  He let out a breath and stared out the window again, from the couch. “Probably a good idea. I don’t want you out there yet. I want to make sure I can protect you, and my arm still hurts like a bitch.”

  “But you can go do your job, which is inherently more dangerous than mine.” I rolled my eyes. “That makes total sense.”

  “Heidi . . .”

  “Yeah. I know. You don’t have a choice.” I eyed the bandage wrapped around his arm. His skin was pale and looked a little clammy, but I kept my hands firmly in my lap. My pizza sat mostly untouched. “You scared me today.”

  “I know.” He didn’t pretend to misunderstand, but took a sip of beer. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his hard biceps flexed as he lowered the bottle. “This is my life, darlin’. Why do you think I’m single all the time? No one wants to put up with this life. No one I’d want to be with, anyway.”

  “And here I thought it was because you didn’t want to be tied down,” I said quickly, not liking the idea of him being shot all the time. It might be reality, but it didn’t have to be mine. “That you were too much of a devastatingly handsome rogue to settle down with one woman.”

  His lips quirked, and he turned to me, scooting a little closer. His thigh touched mine. “That, too, of course.”

  “What if you met the right woman? One you liked, who liked you, and didn’t mind the life you led?” I asked, my breathing picking up speed. “Would that change your stance?”

  He hesitated, his gaze skittering from mine. He swallowed another gulp of beer. “No. It’s my life, but it’s not going to be anyone else’s. I refuse to do that to someone.”

  Sadness hit me, but I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if I thought I could be that woman. I wasn’t. He didn’t want me to be. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted me to be. Sure, I loved him, but could I handle the reality of him being shot at for the rest of our lives? Probably not. But it didn’t matter, because I would never get the chance. “Gotcha.”

  “What about you?” He stretched his good arm over the back of the couch, resting it over me. His cold beer pressed against my shirt. “Why haven’t you settled down and made a few little Heidis?”

  “Yeah.” I snorted. “Not gonna happen.”

  He stilled. “Why not?”

  “Gee, I wonder why not? Maybe because I grew up on the streets, for starters.”

  He cocked his head. “Yeah? And?”

  “And I’d make a horrible mother.”

  “Because you lived on the streets,” he said dryly, the disapproval practically dripping from his words. “Riiiight.”

  “I’m serious. I know nothing about parenting at all. I didn’t even have a parent.”

  “Doesn’t mean you’d be bad at it.” He shook his head. “Can I ask you something you might not want me to ask?”

  I stiffened. “What?”

  “Why didn’t you stay in foster homes?” He shrugged. “You had to have had a few, right? You were probably a cute kid. Someone had to have wanted you.”

  Years-old unshed tears stung my eyes, not because of his question, but because of how ironically wrong his words were. And he didn’t even know it. “Oh, they wanted me all right. Particularly my last foster father. He really wanted me.”

  “Then why—?” He cut himself off, obviously reading the undertone to my words. Rage, like I’d never seen before, slipped into place. “Tell me his name. Tell me it right fucking now.”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t even remember anymore.” That wasn’t true. I’d never forget his name. But I didn’t need to be the reason for more blood on Lucas’s hands. “He’s probably dead by now.” He wasn’t. “Or in another state.” Nope. Still lived on Chestnut Street. “Who knows?” Me.

  “I’ll find him myself, then. Don’t think I won’t. If I make it outta this alive . . .” He squeezed my thigh, totally blind to the fact that he’d just stabbed a knife through my chest with those words. “Any man who takes advantage like that—he—how old were you?”

  Usually I didn’t want to talk about this, like, ever. But with Lucas . . . it didn’t feel so bad. “Thirteen.”

  He let out another string of curses that lasted at least another ten seconds. Once he settled down, he threaded his hand in my hair and stared into my eyes. I couldn’t look away. “I’m sorry, Heidi. So fucking sorry.”

  I swallowed hard, the closeness of the moment hitting me hard in the chest. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. “It is what it is,” I whispered, latching onto his wrist. “I got away before he got me, though. He made the mistake of warning me ahead of time.”

  “You were handed a life full of shit as a kid,” he said, his voice wrapping around me and not letting go. God, I loved his Boston accent. It got a little more pronounced in quiet moments like this, and it made my insides weak. “You took all those bad things and made them something good. You’re an incredible, strong, brave woman, Heidi Greene. Don’t you ever doubt that, or your ability to be caring at the same time.”

  I blinked rapidly, refusing to le
t tears come out. I mean, I hadn’t even cried when it had happened. Why start now? But his words, they meant something to me. “Be that as it may . . . I still wouldn’t be a good mother.”

  “I disagree,” he said. He readjusted himself, setting his beer down on the table and then resting a hand on mine. “I think you’d make an excellent mother.”

  I tried not to believe him, or care that he thought that, or get pulled under his spell, because in the end . . . it didn’t matter if he thought I’d make a good mom. He’d be gone from my life, and I’d be gone from his. “Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?”

  “You remind me of my ma,” he said softly, his voice cracking ever so slightly. So slightly I might have imagined it, but I knew I hadn’t. “And she was the best mother I know, or will ever know.”

  My heart twisted into a tight, tiny ball. There went my plan to remain unaffected. He’d smashed it all with a few soft-spoken words, as usual. Stealing my heart without my permission, time and time again. And the worst part was, he didn’t even know it. And never would. “Lucas . . .”

  “Shh, sweetheart. Just . . .” He cupped my cheek and leaned close, resting his forehead on mine. “Just . . . shh.”

  And then he kissed me.

  He slowly leaned back on the couch, and I climbed into his lap, never breaking the kiss off. We made love slowly, tenderly. There was something extremely different about this time, and I had a feeling he felt it, too. Every healing touch, every soothing brush of his fingertips, brought us closer. Closer to what?

  I had no idea. But I had an idea I’d find out soon . . .

  One way or the other.

  CHAPTER 21

  LUCAS

  The next afternoon, I stood behind the men loading the guns into the truck, my eyes on the horizon. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Scotty was watching. Waiting. Plotting.

  And sooner or later, he would take another shot.

  The only thing in question was how I’d react to it. I flexed my sore arm, hiding a wince as I did so. Heidi was right. I was weak, and if someone came at me right now, I might not be able to fight them off. “This is bullshit.”

  “What is?” Chris asked. He stood beside me, arms crossed, frowning as the men loaded the second-to-last box onto the truck. “Easy, guys. Those are fragile parts.”

  I’d been talking about my brother wanting me dead, but I didn’t feel like delving into that. “The fact that I’m out here, in the open, vulnerable, and I’ve only got one working arm. If someone attacks me, or Heidi . . .” I growled, pissed off at the world. Pissed off at everyone in it, too. Everyone except her. “This couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

  Chris shot me an incredulous look. “Dude, your arm isn’t hurt because of some work injury or something. Your arm is hurt because someone wants you dead and is determined to accomplish their goal. That ‘someone’ is your—”

  “Yeah.” I tugged on my collar. “I know, asshole.”

  “Coulda fooled me,” Chris muttered, walking closer to the truck and leaving me alone. I watched his back, making sure no one from the other gang—the ones buying the guns—made any sudden moves. “Let’s go. Move your asses. We have a meeting to go to. It’s your dicks on the line if we’re late.”

  I followed him, frowning when I saw one of the guys from our crew standing to the side, watching me intently. He fingered the gun at his hip, his dark shades blocking his eyes from my view, but I didn’t doubt my initial assessment. For some reason, he was focused on me. I frowned at the man. “Hey. You. Get to work.”

  He ignored me. Just stood there.

  Not one to back down from a threat, I walked over to him, resting my hand on my own piece. “Is there a problem?”

  The man rocked back on his heels. “No, sir, there’s no problem here. I was just watching your back. Tate’s orders.”

  Watching it . . . or watching me? Either way, I didn’t like it. I didn’t know this man, and I definitely didn’t want him at my six. “Fuck off. I watch my own back.”

  “But—”

  I grabbed the man’s shirt and hauled him close, face-to-face. “I said, back the fuck off. Now.”

  The man held his arms up, swallowing hard. “All right, sir. All right.”

  I let go of him, and he backed off, letting out an aggravated sound. After one last dirty look, he stormed off. I walked over to the leader of the other gang, who’d been watching us way too intently, and held out my hand. “We all good, Gonzales?”

  Gonzales eyed me. This was the moment where, if anything was gonna go bad, it would. Cops. Guns. Fights. This was when it all happened. When money exchanged hands. My pulse skyrocketed, and I scanned the perimeter. So did Gonzales.

  After what felt like a fucking year, he reached into his pocket. I tensed, watching for any signs of something hard and gun shaped. Instead, he pulled out a crisp, white envelope, much like the one I had in my home. “We’re all good.”

  He gave me the envelope, and I immediately tucked it into my jacket pocket. No sirens blared. No gunshots boomed. The deal was complete. I inclined my head toward the other lieutenant. “Have a good one, man.”

  The man walked away without another word.

  Chris immediately came over. “What was that about, earlier, with MacKenzie?”

  Was that his name? Shit if I knew. “Tate had him watching me.”

  “Shit,” Chris muttered. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  “Me neither, but there’s only one way to find out.” The trucks pulled away, and the crew piled into cars. I tipped my head toward Chris’s Porsche, since we’d ridden together. “Let’s go to the meeting.”

  We rode the short distance to the office in silence. My mind was on Tate and whether he was looking to get rid of me, and Chris seemed just as lost in thought as I was.

  The second we walked through the doors of the office, Brian approached us.

  Chris nodded. “Hey. How’s it going?”

  “Good. Arms up,” Brian, Tate’s right-hand man, said to me.

  Gritting my teeth, I did as ordered. “If you wanted to feel me up, you could’ve at least bought me a drink first.”

  “There’s one in there waiting for you.” He patted me down, checking for wires or any weapons I’d failed to leave outside the meeting room with my phone. After a few moments, he nodded once. “Go on in.”

  I gave him a cocky grin. “Thanks.”

  He moved on to Chris, who stood behind me, and I went in. I’d never been in this particular room before, since I wasn’t up high enough on the food chain to warrant an invitation. I wasn’t sure why I’d gotten one now, either, unless I was about to get that promotion that Chris had warned me about. Either that . . .

  Or they knew about Scotty.

  My pulse sped up, and I sank into one of the chairs that had a whiskey sitting in front of it. I could only assume it wasn’t taken, since everyone else had a glass in their hands except me and Chris. I stared down at the drink but didn’t touch it. Instead, I scanned the room. Polished wooden circular table. Five matching chairs. A few generic paintings of flowers and landscapes. Everything looked boringly white-collar.

  But I knew better than to believe it was.

  “All right,” Tate said, settling into his chair. He wore a dark blue suit and a light blue dress shirt and looked every inch the professional businessman he pretended to be. “Let’s get this meeting started. First, let’s welcome our visitor today, Lucas Donahue.”

  Everyone sat, murmuring quiet welcomes in their designer suits and ties.

  Chris just raised a brow at me.

  I stared back at him.

  The men took turns speaking and solving problems. One by one, they discussed territories and deaths and errors. It was a management meeting, and I had nothing to add, because I didn’t manage a damn thing besides Heidi, and I even sucked at that.

  Leaning back in the wood chair, I watched my companions through my lowered lashes. Tate sat kind of separated
from the rest of us, and Brian was to his left. Chris sat on the right, and I was next to him. Across from me was Tommy, and he watched me with skepticism, as if he couldn’t figure out why the hell I was sitting at this table in the first place.

  Hell, neither could I.

  But I’d been summoned, and so here I was.

  “The crew in Center City is having a hard time locking down sales. They keep getting busted and think we need to move away from the high school,” Tate said, rubbing his forehead. “So we need to come up with a better place to deliver.”

  Chris smirked at me. I stiffened, knowing this wasn’t gonna go anywhere good. “You got any thoughts on this, Luc?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.” I sat up straighter and tapped the fingers of my good hand on the table. “Center City is heavily policed. We need to move away from it.”

  Brian nodded. “That’s what we just said. So what do you suggest?”

  “Yeah.” Chris leaned back and crossed his arms. “Whatcha got, Luc?”

  I shrugged, not liking the way my blood brother put me on the spot like that. This was obviously some sort of test, and the stubborn asshole part of me didn’t want to fail it. An earlier conversation with Heidi came to mind, and I sat up straighter. “I don’t know. Maybe . . . maybe we throw the badge for a loop and move closer to Steel Row High rather than farther from it. There’s an alley near it, right?”

  Tate leaned forward, his lips parted. “Yeah. It’s got a few. And there’s a deserted Laundromat, too, only a block out.”

  “So what if we use those alleys to our advantage?”

  Brian shook his head. “Too dangerous. We’d be vulnerable to an ambush.”

  “Agreed,” Tommy said quickly.

  “But the police usually avoid the alleys if the homeless are in them. They don’t waste their time with them, since all they want is a place to sleep.” I leaned on the table and locked gazes with Tate. “A few wads of cash and a couple prepaid phones here and there, and we can not only have that alley empty and waiting for us, but we’ll have people who can warn us if the Boys are coming.”