Fall Gently (Red Light: Silver Girls series)

by Debra Kayn

  "Sure." She stood, guilty for upsetting him. "I'm going to keep searching the employment ads until I find one. The Sunday paper is huge, so it'll take me awhile."

  He rubbed the back of his neck. "Use your phone to search, too. A lot of jobs are listed online through the State Department website."

  "Okay," she said, her voice drowning out. "Dawson?"

  His gaze snapped up to meet hers. She stepped over and hugged him. His stiff body softened a little.

  "I'm sorry about bringing up your father and all that," she whispered. "I won't talk about your family anymore."

  He kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry about it."

  She nodded.

  He backed away, turned, and put his can on the counter, then walked to the door without taking his coat. She sank back down on the chair and cradled her chin in her hand. He obviously had pain when thinking about his dad. At only eight years old, she imagined he needed his dad at home at that age teaching him things boys wanted to learn.

  She glanced down at the newspaper and wrinkled her nose. None of the jobs so far interested her. Her internal clock ran rampant to find employment and pressed her to concentrate and keep looking. She couldn't live with Dawson forever. Unfortunately, she needed to hold on to her hope to become independent and not end up working in the sex industry again.

  Dawson had done her a huge favor helping her get back to Seattle and start life over. Though living in the apartment, sleeping with him, she only had an interest in being together with Dawson, and it was hard to focus on herself.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Another empty beer bottle crashed against the side of the building in the alley outside Dawson's apartment. He picked up the last one he found behind the dumpster and heaved it against the brick siding, listening to the trickle of broken glass puddle at the base of the wall.

  One more second with Roni and he would've admitted he was more like his father than his mother.

  Sure, he resembled his mother in looks, but everything inside of him— his attitude, his anger, his inability to control himself— came from dear old dad, who'd killed two men outside a bar. Dawson walked over the broken glass, crunching the pieces smaller with his boots.

  His father wasn't even drinking and had never drunk to excess as far as he knew. No, Jay Carver went to the bar to hook up with a prostitute and took offense to some drunk and his friend for catcalling the woman he'd paid to fuck. As if he was better than them because he paid cash for pussy.

  Jacqueline never learned why their father murdered two other people. He clamped his teeth together. Maybe it'd been a mistake not to tell her. Maybe if she'd known, she never would've gone with Vince and would've never been forced into the position of trying to protect her body.

  "Hey," shouted a male voice.

  Dawson turned, spotted Scott, and ground his boot into the mess he'd made in the alley. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone.

  Scott walked down the alley and stopped near Dawson, noticing the glass. "Trouble?"

  "Nope." Dawson stepped back, ignoring the broken bottles and leaned against the wall.

  "Doesn't look that way to me. What's going on, man?" Scott's narrowed eyes squinted more.

  "Nothing," he muttered.

  Scott coughed and gazed out to the sidewalk. "How's the woman you have living with you?"

  "Good."

  Scott studied him. "All right..."

  "Listen, I'm not up to answering twenty questions or whatever the fuck you're doing here." Dawson pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. "I need to go pick up something for dinner."

  "I'll go with you," said Scott, zipping up his coat.

  "No need." Dawson drew breath through his tight chest, not in the frame of mind to carry on a friendly conversation. If he wanted company, he'd go back home.

  Scott shrugged. "Deal with it, man. I got things I need to talk about."

  "Not here." Dawson walked. Anywhere around the apartment or Roni was too close for what Scott had to say. He wasn't sure how she'd deal with Scott being a Sparrows.

  They walked to the parking garage in silence. Tension riddled his body, and he unclenched his hands forcing himself to relax. Scott knew more than anyone and he had a feeling whatever Scott needed to talk to him about wasn't good.

  He unlocked his car, slid into the driver's seat, and popped the lock. Once Scott was inside, Dawson backed out of his assigned parking spot and drove around the ground floor until he hit the exit.

  "The other day you mentioned an interest in getting back into the chopping business," said Scott.

  Dawson rested his wrist on the top of the steering wheel and watched traffic. "Depends on if things are done out in the open or you're thinking about jumping back into running the underground customs."

  Scott rolled the window down an inch. "I'm getting too old to keep looking over my shoulder and with the recent hit Sparrows has taken and Vince gone, I'm not anxious to put my trust with anyone in the gang. I don't know who to trust or who will stab me in the back, and we'll probably never find out if the sting came from someone on the inside feeding information out or what. It makes you think, man. Your sister gets killed, and then the members go down."

  "What are you thinking?" asked Dawson, prepared to hear what he already suspected. It was only a matter of time until Scott figured out about how Sparrows went down and who helped instigate the sting.

  Scott's body went still, and he gazed at Dawson. "I think your sister found a way to get away from Vince by going to the cops, feeding them information in exchange for their help, and Vince got wind of what she was doing and had her killed. It was too late though and Jacqueline had given the police all the information they needed to take half the members of the Yesler Street Gang down."

  Unsurprised that Scott figured things out on his own, he stopped on the yellow light and looked at his friend. "Talk like that is never good. What are you planning on doing with your opinion?"

  Scott's gaze intensified. "I figure we've already done enough. Don't you?"

  Dawson nodded. The conversation would die in the car. Nobody needed to know that his sister somehow found the strength and determination to contact the police in an attempt to get away from Vince and take Roni with her. She'd almost made it out, too, but Vince got to her first. Whether the leader of the Sparrows killed his sister or ordered the hit, Vince had paid for what he'd done to Jacqueline.

  "Yeah. We're good." Dawson pushed down on the accelerated and continued driving.

  A few years older than Dawson, Scott was already a member of the gang when he'd joined up. They hit it off straight away and learned everything they needed to in the garage together. He saw no reason to cut ties. More than brotherhood kept them together. They had secrets that would forever link both of them together.

  "What would you say if I find us a place to set up business and we open to the public and make the business legal?" asked Dawson.

  He turned the block and headed three streets up to the first fast food burger joint closest to home. Glancing over at Scott, he found his friend staring out the window in thought.

  Scott blew out his breath and chuckled. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I'm in if you can do it."

  "Who else in Sparrows is willing to work?" Dawson turned on his blinker. "We need two more men. There're some things we can't do on our own, but eventually, we'll need others who know their way around a garage. They can start off part-time until business picks up."

  "Let me listen around for a couple of days and put feelers out. Right now, off the top of my head, Luchek comes to mind and so does Jerald. Both of them have worked with us before. I want to know how deep they're in with the others first before I mention it to them. I don't want any bad blood between any of us." Scott quit talking when Dawson rolled to a stop in front of the lit menu board.

  He looked over at Scott. "You want anything to eat?"

  "No, I'm good."

  Dawson rolled down his window, p
laced the order, and drove around the building to the pick-up window. The conversation waited until they were back on the street.

  "Go ahead and call Josh Hennings. He's got a building he's leasing out on Fifth Avenue...an old warehouse. There's a garage on street level. See what he thinks about leasing it out to us, and once I know we've got a place; I'll make arrangements to get the tools out of storage." He stopped at the stop light. "Soon as you make up your mind about Luchek and Jerald, let me know and we can roll on this."

  "No problem." Scott thumped the side of the door. "I miss working. It's fucking driving me crazy having nothing to do all day but think."

  "I hear you," muttered Dawson. "Can't get it out of my head lately."

  He drove forward at the green light and pulled into the parking garage. When he stopped the car, neither one of them made any move to leave the vehicle. Finished business was never over. The unfinished business would hang over his head for a lifetime.

  Dawson kept his gaze on the steering wheel. "What's the talk?"

  "Total silence, man. I'm not hearing a thing. If the other Sparrows suspect a thing, about your sister or you, they're not talking to each other." Scott ran his hands down the front of his thighs. "Nobody is going to say a word even if they think you've got a hand in anything. They've got their own shit to worry about."

  "I hope you're right," whispered Dawson.

  He opened the door and exited the Caddy. Knowing Scott would find his way home, Dawson walked with the sack of burgers and fries in his hand back to the apartment. Calmer than earlier, he'd push away the trouble dogging his step and looked forward to spending the evening with Roni. If he were lucky, he'd get her mind off her worry about finding a job.

  He wasn't in any hurry for her to leave. If he could figure out a way to clean up his mess, he'd ask her to live with him permanently.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Dawson kissed Roni, hard and hot. She parted her lips and welcomed him inside her mouth, brushing her tongue against his, feeling her breasts swell in response. She welcomed his distraction from struggling to fill out a job application with no prior employment.

  Her nipples ached in pleasure and a little pain. As was Dawson's habit—a good habit she fully supported—they'd made love twice, sometimes three times, each day for the last week and she couldn't get enough of him.

  Dawson rose to his knees. She looped her arms around his neck, uncaring that they both were on the kitchen floor. Dawson with all his strength and hardness took her wherever he wanted, and his loss of control around her thrilled her in a way she never imagined. He gave her the encouragement to enjoy sex, and she came away without any guilt over wanting to be in his arms.

  The mix of his overheated body pressed into her, and the cool floor against her bare skin left her trembling.

  His mouth, hot and moist, lingered against her throat before claiming hers. She squirmed underneath him, wanting to touch every part of him. That need to know every spot on his body that made him aroused started the other day, and she found herself studying him when he wasn't looking, wondering where to touch him next. It wasn't a game to her.

  Her curiosity had turned into a necessity.

  She had to know everything about him.

  How he went on such little amount of sleep and seemed to watch and care for her through the night without any ill-effects in the morning? When he liked to eat his meals and if he appreciated them made for him when he arrived home from one of his errands he often took during the day? What made his mind wander when he thought she wasn't paying attention, and he stared off into the distance without saying a word?

  Most of all, she just enjoyed having her hands on all his inflated muscles and deep planes of his body. She trailed her fingers over his shoulders, his arms, up his sides, knowing she'd never get tired of discovering things about him.

  Urged on by the way her body warmed and tightened in reaction, she grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts. Her breath caught as he cupped her curves. Now that she understood what would come along with mutual satisfying sex, she wanted to help him enjoy making love to her.

  She wanted to go higher and longer.

  She wanted to please him while pleasing herself.

  His pleasure became hers, and the dynamics between them filled her with boundless energy and hope.

  Desperate and achy from his touch, she strained toward him. There was nothing between them, only hot skin on skin, and she wanted to have him inside, filling her completely.

  "God," she whispered arching toward him.

  Her body screamed for more and still he only kissed her. His tongue demanded, possessed and stroked. Teasing, until her insides coiled and she almost lost control.

  He growled in her mouth. A vibration deep in her belly spread until she shivered.

  At last, he drew back far enough to look at her and paused, staring down at her before lowering his head and kissing her stomach. She slid her fingers into his hair and caught her breath in anticipation. Her body pulsed with each heartbeat, and she wondered if he could feel it. Feel her. Feel what he was doing.

  He licked her skin, and she whimpered. His hands skimmed her abdomen, moved higher, closer to her breasts. Closer and closer. Then he distracted her, and kissed her ribs, her collarbone, her neck.

  She arched, silently urging him on. A little more. Just a smidge—

  His large hands covered her breasts, and his head came up as he gazed down into her eyes. She shivered in pleasure at the contact. His broad, strong hands on her sensitive nipples and his patience were her undoing. Her head came off the floor, and she moaned.

  “You're beautiful, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I could do this all day and watch you enjoy my hands. My mouth. My cock.”

  He held her as if she'd break or disappear. But there was no doubt he held her, securely, possessively.

  She let her head drop back as she focused on his touch, the way his fingers moved over her. Then he brushed his thumbs across her nipples, and she couldn’t wait.

  “Dawson.” She reached for him. "Please. I need you. In me."

  She stared at his bare chest, the defined muscles, and the dark hair in the center. He nudged her legs further apart and lowered his mouth to her breast. He sucked and licked, sending ribbons of sensations all through her body. Pressure built inside her, and when he used his hand to tease her other breast, she locked her ankles behind his thighs and pressed her pussy against his hardness.

  He knew exactly what to do, what she liked, and how to please. He moved back and forth between her breasts, caressing until she muffled a scream, reaching and straining.

  She was so ready, so on the edge. So desperate for him.

  He hovered over her and gazed at her intently. “Can't get enough of you.”

  “Keep taking,” she murmured.

  He moved slowly. She grabbed at his arms, her blunt fingertips trying to gain purchase on his skin, not willing to let go. She moaned and lifted her legs higher, wider, and dug her heels into his lower back, locking him to her. The force of his condom covered cock pressed against her.

  He slid into her. She gasped and clamped her legs tighter. She wound her arms around his neck. His eyes locked on hers. He thrust, withdrew and plunged again in a slow, steady pace.

  She liked that.

  She had also discovered she liked fast and erratic. Half asleep sex, shower sex, and on the couch sex.

  Every erogenous spot on her body vibrated at the assault of pleasure. She moaned at the sudden flood of pleasure swelling, rolling, reeling. Dawson—perfect in every way had stepped into her life and showed her how to live without regrets, without fear, without losing herself.

  Every inch of her constricted as she burst with her orgasm, lost track of time, lost her location, and lost all thoughts except the wonderful feelings Dawson gave her.

  His body stiffened as he followed her to completion before he whispered her name and cradled her close. She smiled and rolled with him as he held her
in his arms. She inhaled deeply, safe and free.

  She had no idea how long they laid on the floor, naked, locked in their own world while Seattle kept moving outside Dawson's apartment. She wouldn't have cared if they slept the whole night in the kitchen, but a knock at the door startled her, and Dawson extracted himself from her arms and legs and pulled her to her feet.

  "What time is it?" she whispered holding on to him.

  "Late. After midnight." He patted her ass, pushing her away from him. "Go in the bedroom and shut the door."

  She hesitated, wide awake at seeing his furrowed brow and his mouth thinned in anger after having had him open and loving toward her only a minute ago.

  "What's going on?" she asked.

  He slipped his feet into the jeans he'd discarded before they'd had sex. "I don't know, but I don't want you out here until I find out who would come here this late at night."

  She backed away from him. He never gave her another glance as he reached above the refrigerator and removed a pistol.

  She turned and hurried into the bedroom and shut the door. Her heart pounded, and her thoughts refused to focus. He had a gun.

  During the two weeks she'd stayed in his apartment, he never had visitors come calling on him. She drew her knees to her chest and hugged her legs. Her pulse roared in her ears blocking any sound from the apartment.

  Midnight callers were something Vince regularly had at his house. She dropped her forehead to her knees and closed her eyes. The knock on the door could only mean one thing.

  She trembled and stared across the room. A Sparrows member stood outside the door.

  Chapter Thirty

  Scott stood in the hallway of the building. Dawson closed the door behind him keeping his late night visitor out of his apartment and away from Roni. The last thing Roni needed was to recognize a Sparrows member or for him to find out news that would upset the security he created around the apartment.