Dare to Stay

by Jen McLaughlin

  “Yeah.” Tommy poured me a whiskey and handed it over. He had brown hair and green eyes, was the same age as me, and had more ink than me—which was saying a lot. His father was Tate’s father’s cousin, so he was pretty high up on the food chain. “He was a good brother and will be missed.”

  I took the glass, gripping it hard enough that it should have shattered. This was all so fucked-up—and all my fault. Lucas should be here with us, and he was gone. Forever. I’d never stop regretting that. What would I have done if I’d succeeded in my plan to kill him? How would I have handled this damn guilt? I’d underestimated him when I thought he was friends with me only because of my connections, and that pissed me off even more than this farce did. “I miss him already.”

  “Me, too,” Scotty said, sitting next to Tommy. “And I’m ready to get some revenge.”

  “We all are,” Frank said, sliding a glass of whiskey to Scotty. “And we will get it.”

  “Good.” I leaned against the bar and faced the room, eyeing the guys there. I stiffened when I saw Pops in the corner, talking to Tommy’s dad. “Shit. When did he get home?”

  “Today.” Frank laughed. “You didn’t know your own father was back?”

  “Been kinda busy,” I said through clenched teeth. If he was here, I had to go over and greet him or he’d chew me out later. “I’ll be right back.”

  Scotty watched me go, his eyes narrowed. As I crossed the room, my brothers clapped me on the back as I went, each offering up sympathy. By the time I made it to my pops, I was ready to tell everyone to kiss their asses, that I didn’t need any sympathy. That it was my fault Lucas was gone, and they needed to take action against me.

  I couldn’t do this shit.

  This wasn’t me.

  Walking up behind Pops, I waited until he deigned to notice me, even though he’d spotted me the second I started heading his way. The way he acted around everyone but me—friendly, laughing the loudest, first to crack a joke—was always weird to witness. Around me, he was first to crack my ribs, not a fucking joke.

  He talked to Gus, Tommy’s dad, for another couple of minutes and finally turned to me once my whiskey was gone. Gus gave me a sympathetic nod and headed over to another older club member. Pops watched him go, letting the smile fade once he was out of earshot. “I hear you’ve been out fucking your grief away.”

  “Yep.” I nodded once, gripping my empty glass. “Pops.”

  He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Care to explain the corpses I saw Scotty Donahue dragging out of my garage when I got home?”

  I stiffened, having forgotten about them. When I was with Molly, that part of my life kind of faded away. “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” He stared at my jacket before he rested a hand on my shoulder. “You get yourself shot up again, son? That’s a good repair, but I know how to spot a bullet hole when I see one.”

  I stiffened. “Yeah. It’s healing, though.”

  “Is that so?” He dug his fingers in more and smirked. To an outsider, it probably looked like an emotional father-son moment. But his fingers were directly over my wound, and he wasn’t letting go. It hurt like a bitch. “You’re lucky your mother didn’t see those men. Then you’d be answering to me, boy.”

  I was well past the age of ass whooping, and if he tried, I could kill him with one hand tied behind my back, if I wanted to. But that didn’t stop him from threatening me, anyway.

  Or from being an asshole.

  “I’m sorry,” I said simply, raising a brow. “It was Bitter Hill. They struck me when I was down, and I had to hide the bodies. Scotty was helping me out.”

  He dug his thumb in more. I clenched my jaw, refusing to react as he guided me into a quiet corner, our backs to the other men in the room. He patted my back with his free hand, making it look as if he comforted me. What a fucking joke. “And with Lucas. What happened there? Where did you get this new bullet hole from? Him?”

  He must’ve put two and two together. Pops was a smart one like that. If I didn’t come clean, he’d suspect something was up and ruin everything I’d been so carefully building. Dammit. “What do you think happened?” I said casually. “I took care of business.”

  Pops’s eyes widened, and they lit up with appreciation. For the first time in my life, it was directed toward me. “No shit. Really?”

  I nodded once, shoving my hands into my pockets.

  He laughed. “Fucking brilliant. Keep up the show. Act sad. Fuck a lot of whores. But whatever you do, don’t get caught.” He clapped me on the cheek, smiling. “Good job, son. Way to fight your way up to the top. That’s my boy.”

  There it was. The acceptance I’d never gotten from him.

  It settled like an anvil at the bottom of my stomach, making me feel like I’d swallowed a Lucas-size brick. If Pops knew I hadn’t actually killed him, he wouldn’t be so quick to show pride. But the thing was, I didn’t regret failing. I looked at it now like some sort of divine intervention. I didn’t believe in God. Didn’t think there was some benign leader that kept watch over us and led us down a good path.

  If he existed, he’d never shown himself to me.

  But in that apartment, the day I failed in killing my best friend, that was the closest I’d ever gotten to believing in a higher being. In heaven and hell.

  Well, I believed in hell. I saw it every day.

  And I had no doubt that’s where I would end up.

  Pops walked over to Gus again, and I went back to Scotty, who now sat alone at the bar. Dropping my head and my voice, I said, “Pops figured out I popped Lucas. I had to play along.”

  “Shit.” Scotty slammed his glass down. “How did he know?”

  “I don’t know. He’s good like that.”

  “How convenient for you,” Scotty said, watching me with a frown. “Looks like you get the position after all. If you didn’t, your pops would know we were full of shit. There you go again, getting your way like always while appearing as if you didn’t choose to win . . . but did anyway.”

  I stiffened, because he was right, but I had my own game to play, and if I rejected a promotion, it would further my position on the board. Rejecting advancement was the best way to take any light off Scotty and his secret life before it got too intense. Time to move my pieces.

  Let the games begin.

  CHAPTER 20

  MOLLY

  I sat at the dining room table, biting my lip as I slid the drawing into the wood picture frame I’d pulled out of my attic. As I set the cardboard backing into place, I glanced over my shoulder at the front door. It still hadn’t opened. Chris had been gone for only two hours, and already I was going insane with worry.

  It only went to prove I wasn’t cut out for this way of life.

  What was I doing?

  When my dad died, I swore not to let myself feel that kind of pain again. To never care about someone enough that their death left a gaping hole in my heart for all time. To never feel so alone, so lost, and to never love anyone again.

  I was good at it. At keeping a distance.

  But with Chris, it was next to impossible.

  Something I was only just realizing, now that I was alone and terrified for his life, was that I’d broken my rules. I’d let him in. I’d let him matter to me. If he died like my dad . . .

  I wouldn’t be okay.

  Really, I needed to take a step back. To remind myself that the way I’d felt after I lost my father, the pain and grief that had almost killed me, could come back if I let it. Dad had been a doctor who helped people who needed it; he hadn’t lived a dangerous life at all. Still, he’d died. He’d left me alone. And I’d fallen apart without him.

  Chris was literally a killer and a member of a gang, and he probably got shot at every single day. More than once. The chances of him ending up in a morgue from a bullet were pretty high. He knew it. I kne
w it. And if he died . . .

  I’d fall apart all over again.

  And this time, I might not get put back together.

  Flipping the frame faceup, I ignored the sinking suspicion in my stomach that I was too late to avoid that pain. Ignored all the signs that told me no matter what I did . . .

  I’d be suffering.

  Chris’s drawing stared up at me. It was the one he’d done yesterday, before he told me his secret shame. I still couldn’t believe that the Chris I knew would do that to Lucas. That the same Chris who cradled me all night long, intermittently kissing my temple even while asleep, could be the same guy who’d coldly plotted his friend’s death.

  Who did that?

  A knock sounded on the door, and I jumped to my feet, pulse racing. Was it the cops, coming to tell me he was dead? Or maybe another one of those bad guys, come to finish the job they started back at my house in Boston? Or, you know, maybe just a person knocking because they wanted to say hi. That was possible, too.

  Before Chris came into my life, a knock on the door hadn’t been much of a thing at all.

  How had my life come to this?

  How did I get here?

  Grabbing the knife off the counter that I’d pulled out for this type of thing, since a shoe and a hanger weren’t going to cut it with professional killers, I tiptoed to the door. Peeking out the window, I relaxed slightly when I saw who it was.

  It was Mitchell Myers, who lived next door.

  I’d known him for three years, and he was a great friend. We often spent hours together, drinking wine and sharing stories. He’d never been anything but good to me. He wore polo shirts and pleated khaki shorts, was a vegetarian who wouldn’t harm a fly. He was a handsome guy. He had blond hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He was always immaculately groomed and had a nice body that clearly saw a lot of gym time to keep it that way. He was also a doctor. Rich. Successful. Caring. He was the picture of the harmless suburban preppy . . .

  And yet, still I hesitated to let him in.

  I’d always suspected he wanted to be more than friends, but he’d never made a move . . . which was just as well. He wasn’t my type. Turned out, I preferred inked-up guys with guns and nipple rings. Go figure. Swallowing hard, I opened the door a crack, pushed Buttons back with my foot, and forced a smile. “Oh. Hey. How are you doing?”

  “Great, now that you’re here.” His gaze slid down and widened. “What’s with the knife?”

  “Huh?” I glanced down, having forgotten I was still holding it. “I . . . uh . . . was cooking. Forgot I had it.”

  “Oh. Okay. Want some wine to go with whatever you’re cooking?” He held up a bottle of red wine. “I brought my best pinot noir and three months’ worth of life stories.” When I didn’t open the door right away, his smile faded a bit. “Can I come in, Molly?”

  If I didn’t let him in, it would seem out of character. We had a tradition of drinking together every time I was at the Cape. I might not know a lot about hiding out or keeping a low profile, but I was pretty sure you were supposed to act normal to avoid suspicion being cast your way. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to invite him inside, and I’d drink a whole bottle with him while catching up on lost time.

  I’d have to do the same now.

  Opening the door, I stepped back and scooped up Buttons so he didn’t slip out the door. “Of course you can. You know I love pinot noir.”

  Laughing, he came inside and kicked off his sandals. He didn’t pet Buttons, or even look at him. He was too busy staring at me. “How have you been? I didn’t know you were coming this week. I couldn’t believe it when I saw your car in the driveway.”

  “The kids are on spring break,” I said, peeking outside. A black car with tinted windows was parked down the road. It hadn’t been there before. When I stared at it, the engine started, and whoever was inside it drove off. Swallowing hard, I shut and locked the door. “Figured I’d get some relaxation in by the water, since it’s actually supposed to be warm for once.”

  “I, for one, am glad you did.” He studied me. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” I let out a nervous laugh and set Buttons on his feet. He sauntered off to hide, like he always did when Mitchell came by. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “You just seem like you’re upset about something.”

  Plastering on a fake smile, I shook my head, my mind still on that car. Why had it left when I looked at it? It could just be a car, of course, or it could be something more. “Nope. There’s nothing for me to be upset about. I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He wiggled the wine bottle. “If you’re not, I’m sure this will help loosen you up a bit until you’re ready to talk.”

  I made a mental note to not drink more than a glass. “Undoubtedly.”

  “Glasses?” he asked, walking into my kitchen. “I think I remember where they are, but—” He broke off, staring at the kitchen table. He bent his head. “New artwork purchase?”

  Heart pounding, I walked over to him. “Y-yeah. Well, not a purchase, exactly. A friend drew it. He’s a . . . an up-and-coming artist. Just getting started.”

  Mitchell stared at Chris’s drawing, set down the wine, and looked toward the water. “This was drawn here? I see my house right there.” He touched the drawing, pointing to the building next to mine—which was indeed his house. “It’s an incredible re-creation. This artist is amazingly talented. What school did he go to?”

  I hugged myself and smiled. “None.”

  “Seriously?” He blinked at me. “That’s all just raw talent?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “Is he still here? I’d love to meet him. Maybe talk to him about purchasing a drawing from him, only the view from my house.” Mitchell picked up the frame and walked to the window, comparing. “I mean, he even caught the way the water reflects the sun. That’s true talent. I must speak with him before he’s too famous to take commissions.”

  My heart picked up speed, because this, right here, was what I’d been searching for. The solution I hadn’t seen, even though it stared me right in the eye. If Chris took the talent that God had given him and used it for profit . . . could he make enough money to live a normal life? One that didn’t include guns and death?

  Would he get out of the gang if he had another option?

  “I’ll ask him if he’s interested,” I said in a rush. “He might be.”

  “If he’s not, I’ll throw money at him until he is.” Mitchell put down the drawing and picked up the wine again. “Artists are never too proud to take a wad of cash.”

  I walked into the kitchen and pulled out two glasses. “This one might be. He’s not exactly hurting for money.”

  “You know him personally.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I nodded, anyway.

  “I . . . see.” He set the bottle on the granite kitchen island. “Will he be back?”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged, set the glasses down, and pulled out the corkscrew. “Maybe.”

  He stared at me. After a few seconds, he picked up the wine and the corkscrew I’d laid down. “Is it serious?”

  “Is what serious?” I asked quickly, my cheeks heating up.

  “The two of you.” He pulled the cork out and set it down gently. “I’m not an idiot. You’re blushing. He’s clearly more than a friend.”

  “I don’t know what we are to one another, honestly.” I picked up the bottle and poured the red wine into two glasses. When I was done, I sighed. “It’s . . . new. Very new.”

  “Ah.” He picked up his drink and held it out to me. “To new relationships?”

  I clinked my glass on his. “Does that mean you’re in one, too?”

  “Nah.” He side-eyed me as he took a drink. “I’m still looking for the perfect woman.”

  I drank my wine, avoiding
his stare. “You’ll find her.”

  “No doubt.”

  Setting my wine down, I cleared my throat. “How’s work been?”

  “Good. The hospital’s been busy.” He smiled. “Lots of surgeries. Lots of work. Not much of a life. You know, the usual.”

  “You need to get out there more. You won’t find a girl sitting at home on your deck watching the water.”

  “You never know.” He laughed. “You don’t exactly go out much, yet you found someone.”

  I flinched. “Mine was not your typical meet cute with a guy. You don’t want to use me as an example.”

  “Still.” He lifted a shoulder. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

  “I guess so.”

  We fell silent, sipping our wine. He eyed me over his glass, clearly about to speak. I tensed, bracing myself. “This guy. Is he treating you well?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Good.” He smirked. “If he wasn’t, I’d have to do something about it.”

  The image of a harmless guy like Mitchell going up against Chris wasn’t a pretty one. Chris would chew him up and spit him out like a bug. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. He’s a good guy.”

  “I can’t wait to meet him.” He took another sip of wine. “We could do dinner. I could grill, and we could crack open a few beers.”

  I might not know a lot about lying low, but I had a feeling an outdoor barbecue with the neighbor didn’t fit into that description. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s kind of shy. You know how those artistic types can be. Maybe another night?”

  Mitchell stared at me. “Yeah. That would be fine.”

  I blushed more. I couldn’t help it. He suspected I was hiding something, I could see it in his eyes, and he was right. I was. Groaning inwardly, I gulped back the remainder of my wine. “You’ll meet him eventually. I promise.”

  If Chris actually stuck around, and, you know, lived.

  “Can’t wait.” He finished off his drink, too. Almost immediately, he poured us both some more. “How did you two meet?”