Tears rolled down her face, and she bit her lip. “I don’t want that. I’d never want you to give your life for mine.”
“Tough shit.” I stepped closer and slid my hand into her hair, resting my thumb against the spot on her lip she’d just bitten. “I didn’t ask for your permission.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Well, maybe I’d give my life for yours, too.”
“That would be a tragedy.” I ran my thumb over her lip, ignoring the pain that sliced through me at the idea of her dying. A world with no Molly was no world at all. “My life in comparison to yours is nothing. It’s a drop in the ocean. You make the world a brighter, better place. I don’t. Never think your life is a reasonable forfeit for mine. You’re wrong.”
“No. You are.” She lifted her chin stubbornly, completely naked and obviously okay with that. “And I’m not okay with you taking the fall for another guy, or with you throwing your life away like it means nothing.”
I shook my head sadly. “But it’s my life to give. My choice to make. I won’t apologize for what I have to do. I won’t act like I’m sorry when I’m not. If there’s a way for us both to walk away from this alive, obviously I’ll take it. I’m not looking to die for the sake of dying. I’m not a damn martyr. But if it comes to me or Scotty living—I’ll choose him. Nothing, and no one, will stop me. Not even you, Princess.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You can’t.”
“I can. And I will.” I let her go, as hard as it was. “Do you still want me to leave?”
She stared at me, not speaking, tears wetting her cheeks.
I stared right back at her, waiting for her to tell me to get the hell out of her house and her life. Eventually I’d hear those words. Eventually she’d realize how much better she was than me, and she’d tell me to go and actually mean it.
And I needed to never forget that.
What we had here, as much as I loved her, it was temporary.
She shook her head and stepped closer. “Stay.”
She was killing herself, and me, with her loyalty . . .
And I was gonna let her.
CHAPTER 18
MOLLY
The next morning, I woke up alone in bed. I wondered if this was the day he left me . . . again. He would leave again. I knew it, just like I understood his need to save Scotty, even if I didn’t agree with it. Yes, he’d done a horrible thing to Lucas. An unspeakable betrayal lay at his feet, and he shouldered that blame. It made me sick to my stomach, knowing he’d done that to his best friend. That he was capable of such a horrible thing. And now Chris was ready to die to atone for his wrongs, and there was no way he was going to change his mind.
I said I was good at fixing problems, but how did I fix this?
At some point, the head of the gang would probably figure out he had an undercover cop in his midst. I didn’t know how the whole gang hierarchy worked, or how high up Chris was on the totem pole, but I was pretty sure if the gang leader suspected a cop hid in their midst, Chris would be one of the ones to hear about it . . . which gave him a prime opportunity to confess before Scotty even suspected he was caught.
And he’d lay the groundwork to make the men suspect him, too. Little by little. A word here. A sentence there. Just enough to layer suspicion in their minds so when they suspected someone might not be a team player . . . Chris would be the logical choice.
I should send him away. Let him go on his suicide mission alone.
And, yet, I couldn’t.
It was like a sickness, my need to keep Chris close, and there was no cure I could take. I was my own worst enemy in this situation. I didn’t want to let him hurt me like he inevitably would, but I didn’t want him to leave me, either. I wanted to keep Chris at arm’s length so I wouldn’t go through what I did when Dad died, but I was apparently all too willing to be brave for the sake of love. I knew he was going to hurt me in the end, but being with him for however long I had him was better than being without him at all.
I was like one of those hamsters in a wheel, running and running, never stopping, and I never got anywhere. Just kept running and trying to figure out what life I led. Sometimes, the fear of how much he would destroy me overcame the desire to keep him at my side. One of these times, I just might come to my senses.
And that scared me even more.
The bedroom door opened, and in came the object of my pain . . . and happiness. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he said, holding two mugs. He kicked the door shut before Buttons could follow him in. He wore a pair of sweats I’d bought him and no shirt, leaving all the delectable ink and hard muscles hanging out for me to drool over. He sure knew how to wake a girl up. “I made coffee and chocolate chip pancakes.”
Sitting up, I held a hand out for the coffee, my gaze hanging around on his pecs and nipple rings before drifting down south to his happy trail. “Yummy.”
He slipped the mug to me and sat on the edge of the bed, watching me with those dark brown eyes of his. When he sat this close and the sunlight filtered in, I saw the green flecks in those brown depths. He had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. He got crankier than a five-year-old coming down off a sugar rush when I told him he was beautiful.
Reaching out, he traced my cheekbone with the backs of his knuckles, his touch almost nonexistent. “This spot? Right here? I struggled with that the other day. With capturing it on paper.”
I swallowed a sip of coffee. “I thought it looked good.”
“It was shit.” He flexed his jaw, withdrawing his touch. “Probably because I had to do it from memory, instead of with you there.”
I scrunched my nose. “I don’t know if I could sit still long enough for one of those portraits, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”
“But I want to draw you.”
“Oh really?” I blew on my coffee. “Like one of your French girls?”
He frowned. “What French girls?”
“From the Titanic.”
“The sunken ship?” He cocked his head. “What the hell does that have to do with my drawing?”
“Not the ship. The film.”
“But the movie is about the ship.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, laughing a little. “But I was specifically talking about the movie, and Jack . . . aka Leonardo DiCaprio.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t see it.”
“Seriously? Why? How?”
“Because I already know how it ends.” He smirked. “The ship hits an iceberg and they all die. Why do I need to lose three hours of my life to see a movie where I already know the ending?”
“Because it’s a classic,” I argued. “And Leo draws in it, just like you. He draws Kate Winslet’s character naked, with nothing but a big diamond heart necklace on, and he—”
He choked on his coffee, set it down, and eyed me with a dark, hot gaze all within the span of ten seconds. “Hold the fuck up. Are you telling me you want me to draw you naked, wearing a necklace? Because I’m so on board with that, Princess.”
My cheeks heated. The idea of lying in bed naked while my lover drew me . . . it wasn’t exactly a bad one. What girl didn’t want to be Kate’s Rose when watching that movie? “N-noooo . . .”
“Was that a question?” He cocked a brow. “Or an answer? I couldn’t tell.”
I just stared back and sipped my coffee.
He hopped off the bed comically fast. “Oh hell yeah. Let me get my pencils and my—” The phone in his pocket rang, cutting him off, and he stiffened. After a second, he pulled it out and stared at it. “Shit.”
“Who is it?”
“Scotty.” He shot me a quick look. “Hold that thought.” Giving me his back, he said, “Hello?” A pause, then: “Yeah. I know a way in. Why?” Too much of a pause. “Seriously? You just told me to hide out, and now I’m supposed to come back?” More
silence, as he paced. “He said that?” A short break. “Fuck me. All right.” A few seconds, then: “What time?” He nodded. “I’ll be there.”
He hung up, staring out the window, his shoulders tense. After taking a deep breath, he loosened them up and turned to me with a grin. I recognized it for what it was.
His everything is great mask. He wore that as well as I wore my I’m spontaneous and cool with all this mask.
“Looks like that drawing will have to wait, Princess.”
I gripped my mug like it would save me from the worrying I was about to go through. It wouldn’t. Nothing would, short of chaining Chris up in my room so he couldn’t go back out there ever again. “Where are you going?”
“To a meeting.” He leaned on the wall and crossed his ankles. “Tate wants a way into Bitter Hill, and I’m just the guy to give him one.”
“Tate?”
He eyed me. “My boss.”
Oh. The head of the Sons of Steel Row. The same one who would probably kill him one day. He sounded lovely. “I didn’t know his name.”
“You don’t need to, really,” he said softly. “You’ll never meet him.”
“Why not?”
“Because you won’t,” he said, his voice final.
I stared at him.
He stared back, his jaw ticking.
After a few seconds, he sighed and dragged his hands down his face. After he dropped them back to his sides, he came across the room and sat at my feet. “Look. The last thing you need is to meet the guys I work with, who literally kill people every damn day—just like me.”
I swallowed. “Where is the meeting?”
“At Tate’s office.” He held a hand up. “And before you ask, no, I’m not telling you where that is. You don’t need to know.”
The all-too-familiar panic crept in. “What if something happens to you? I’ll have no idea where to look for you.”
“Good.” He rubbed his jaw. “You don’t need to be out looking for me in the first place. Just stay here, where it’s safe.”
“No way.” I set my coffee down and grabbed his hands. “Let me come. I’ll stay in the car, and no one will know I’m there.”
“Hell no.” He shook me off and stood. “First of all, they have cameras and security guys everywhere. I assure you that you’d be seen. Second of all, we’re literally in the middle of a gang war with Bitter Hill—because of the things Lucas and me did—and the last place you need to be is sitting outside of a high-target area. Are you fucking insane?”
I crossed my arms. “So I’m just supposed to sit here and wait to see if you died or not?”
“Yes.”
My jaw dropped. “But—”
“How is that different from any other couple, really?” He paced back and forth in front of me, his coffee sitting on my nightstand untouched. “It’s kind of what couples do, right? One leaves. One goes somewhere else. They both go home to the same place.”
I swallowed. He had a point, but most couples didn’t have a member who was a freaking gang member, determined to die for his best friend’s brother. But I had a feeling if I pushed too hard, made too big of a deal out of this . . . he’d run away again.
And this time he wouldn’t come back.
“Of course,” I said gently. “You’re right.”
“I know I am.” He sat again and cupped my face. “Look. I waited years to be able to do this.” Leaning in, he pressed his lips to mine, kissing me sweetly as he ran his thumb over my jaw. Pulling back, he gave me a tender smile. “You can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be coming back tonight. Nothing short of a bullet to the brain will stop me.”
A smile slipped into place despite my fears—which were huge. Like, Titanic iceberg huge. “Is that a movie reference you actually know?”
“Annie. Ma liked it.”
“It’s a miracle,” I said, trying to lighten the moment, since he so clearly wanted to. “I still think you know all about Cinderella, though.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“All right. Keep your secret.” I smiled. “You go. Take my car. I’ll wait here.”
“And you’ll be okay?”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I would be. Not really. “Of course. I’ll make something for dinner while you’re gone. Maybe roast.”
“That sounds delicious.” He leaned in and kissed me again, his lips lingering longer this time. “But you’re the tastiest thing I’ve ever had.”
My cheeks heated, and I curled my hands over his bare shoulders, pulling him closer. He groaned and yanked my legs so I laid flat on the bed, before lying his whole body over mine. Just like I’d wanted. I didn’t waste any time in wrapping my legs around his waist, locking my ankles securely. I wore only a pair of panties under a shirt of his I’d thrown on, so not much stood between him and me.
Burying my hand in his hair, I sought out and found his tongue. At the same time, I traced the curve of his shoulder and played with his nipple ring, tugging it gently. He seemed to like that. I wondered what it felt like when I did that.
Did it hurt? Feel good? Both?
Breaking off the kiss, he rested his forehead on mine. His breathing was ragged and soft, and his grip on me tightened, as if he was about to let go. “Molly, I—”
“Shh.” I kissed him again, quickly. “I don’t want to talk. I want to feel.”
Nodding, he slid his hand under my butt, pulling me against his erection even more. I could feel him, all of him, touching me where I needed him most. Something about knowing he was going out there, where he could be hurt, made me desperate to touch him. To have him. As if that would help me. “I can help you with that.”
He kissed me again, rocking his erection against my core with the perfect amount of pressure. He skimmed his hand up my stomach and under my shirt, closing over my breast—right when his phone rang. Again. He broke the kiss off, cursing.
“No. Don’t.”
“Molly—”
Shaking my head, I pulled his mouth back to mine, kissing him desperately. He gave in, ignoring his phone until it finally shut up, dragging his thumbnail over my nipple. My stomach tightened, and he kissed his way down my body, lifting the shirt I wore so he could actually touch skin.
When he dropped a kiss right over my panties, below my belly button, I arched my hips up and closed my eyes, my whole body tightening in excitement. After the past few times with him, I knew exactly how this ended—and I needed it.
Needed him.
His phone rang again, and I stiffened.
Ignoring it, he buried his face between my legs, flicking his tongue over me. Even through the satin of my panties, it lit me on fire. “Chris.”
Growling, he ripped my panties off and tossed them over his shoulder. His phone finally stopped ringing, and he closed his mouth around me. I cried out, dropping my legs to the sides, and dug my nails into his scalp. He groaned, sucking and rolling his tongue over me until I was trembling and shaking and seconds from seeing stars. And when he brought me there, and pleasure burst over my whole body, he was there, holding me while I came back down.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, collapsing to the mattress, breathing heavily.
“Molly . . .” He nipped at my thigh and ran his tongue over it. He stared up at me from between my legs, his gaze somehow serious and almost . . . scared. He started to speak, but his words became drowned out by the sound of the doorbell. “I love y—” Chris froze, his head still between my thighs, for two seconds. Maybe less. Then he was on his feet, I was alone in the bed, and he had a gun in his hand before I could even move. “Don’t leave this room, no matter what you hear. And get in the closet.”
The door shut behind him, and I sprang into action.
It didn’t even occur to me to disobey him. When it
came to fighting a man with a gun, or twelve of them, I wasn’t any help. I was a liability, and we both knew it.
Closing the closet door, I left it cracked so I could watch and see who entered. If it wasn’t Chris, I would . . . God, I don’t know what I would do. I didn’t have a gun, and even if I did, I had no idea how to shoot it. I didn’t have a weapon of any sort. Breathing heavily, I scanned the closet in the dark, feeling around for anything solid. The best I could find in here was a high-heeled shoe . . . and a wire hanger.
I could poke an attacker’s eye out, I guessed.
If he didn’t, you know, shoot me first.
A million images ran through my head. Chris being shot in the chest the second he opened the door. A man dragging him out by his feet, leaving nothing but a bloody trail and a few memories of the real man he was—the man only I really knew.
The killer? The guy who shot people for a living?
That wasn’t the real Chris.
The real Chris drew gorgeous landscapes and portraits. The real Chris woke me up with soft kisses, coffee, and pancakes. The real Chris spent years showing a woman how special she was, never intending to let her know it was him, and put her first, above all other things, no matter what he said.
And the real Chris was mine.
The door opened, and my heart sped up painfully. I gripped my wire hanger and shoe, knowing I was helpless to save myself but hoping I wouldn’t have to. Chris walked in, looking perfectly healthy, still holding his gun, and I let out a sigh of relief. “You can come out.”
Pushing through the closet, I stumbled out into the brightness. “Who was it? Are you okay?”
“It was Scotty. He came to get me. That’s who kept calling. Apparently he never planned on meeting me there like he said, so he was already halfway here when he—” He set the gun down on the bed and frowned at me. “Why the hell are you holding a shoe and a hanger?”
Dare to Stay Page 19