Strong and Steady

by Vanessa Vale

  I opened my mouth to argue, but his words made sense. If I went with them to God knew where, most likely the darkest and most dangerous corners of the city, Gray could get hurt if I distracted him.

  I took a breath, knowing he wasn’t going to change his mind. “You… you promise you’ll come back to me?” I knew the worry came through in my voice. I’d just found Gray and didn’t need him hurt, or worse.

  He cupped my cheek, leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Promise.”

  Quake stood, and after Gray held my gaze for another moment, he rose as well. Taking his wallet from his back pocket, he pulled out a white key pass. “This works on the outer door of my building and on the elevator to get up to the apartment.” I took it from him, our fingers brushing.

  “This’ll be done tonight, but you’re under my protection since Jackson is in love with you.” Quake looked to Gray, who nodded and grabbed his hat. They left. The cowboy and the biker. Two big, scarred men fighting battles for me.

  I felt my heart going with them. I ached to get up and follow, to grab Gray’s hand and hold him back, to tell him not to go off with an MC president hell bent on vigilante justice. In this case, Gray was of the same mind, and if he was the man I… I loved, then I had to let him go.

  Christy and Paul were watching me, and I felt a flush creep up into my cheeks. I took a sip of my wine as Christy leaned in and asked, “Who’s Jackson? You have two guys in love with you? Should he be worried Gray will beat him up?”

  GRAY

  * * *

  It was after one when Frankie dropped me off at the restaurant to get my truck, and I drove home. I glanced up at the windows to my apartment, but all was dark. Emory was probably asleep. I envisioned her in my bed, her dark hair fanned out across my pillow, ensuring the coconut scent lingered long after she got up. I realized after sharing the bed with her for only one night I didn’t know how she slept. Was she a stomach sleeper? Side? She’d been curled up against me all night, but that wasn’t the norm. She hadn’t been with a man since her ex. It was these unknowns that had me climbing from the truck and clicking the lock button. I wanted to get upstairs and find out. It made my night’s activities worth it. I curled my fingers into fists at the thought, swiping my key fob across the access panel in a tight grip.

  Quake had had information about the man who was using women to get his drugs through the clinic—and other clinics around town—but the little fucker hadn’t been at the place we’d gone. It had been a rundown house on the other side of town, an area I’d never been. I assumed the whole town was part of Quake’s turf.

  I spent fifteen minutes in the back of Quake’s SUV as he talked on his cell, working his connections, whoever they were, to find the guy. Frankie and a couple other men were in a second truck following us. I’d asked Quake why they weren’t riding their motorcycles—since they were a motorcycle club—and he’d said while they hated riding anything but their bikes, some things called for stealth. Their bikes weren’t quiet, nor did a big group of them blend in.

  Quake had only offered road names as way of introduction. I doubted Razor’s mother had given him that name at birth. Every one of them knew me. They either nodded or shook my hand with a certain level of what seemed to be respect. There was no question in their minds I could hold my own in a fight, but I was content letting them keep the guns. My gun shooting days from Marines were over.

  I’d remained quiet as Quake talked, listening and watching. I’d dealt with some bad people, some bad shit, but this was outside of my comfort zone. The men were organized and calm as if this kind of thing was something they did frequently. Hell, they probably did. I wanted my hands on the fucker, but finding him was up to Quake.

  The second place we went was a few blocks from the clinic. Emory had told me of her volunteer work and where the building was, but at night, driving past it with men carrying guns, this wasn't a place I wanted her on her own. She wouldn’t be driving to it alone anymore. We parked in front of another rundown house, the one next door vacant and abandoned, the windows boarded up.

  A light was on in the front window, the blue flicker of a TV indicating someone was home. Frankie rang the doorbell, and the fucker had answered it. Gangbangers didn't ring the bell, so he probably thought he was safe. It seemed too easy. I’d wanted a chase, a fight, something, but he was just a dead-beat low life who pissed his pants at the sight of Quake’s men pushing him back into his living room.

  “That’s him?” I asked as Quake, and I went inside. I wanted to beat the shit out of the right person.

  “Been busy, Ralph,” Quake said, his voice low and even.

  Quake gave a little swipe with his fingers, and he and his men went back outside, giving me a minute alone with the asshole without being asked.

  “You broke into a house last night,” Quake said.

  Ralph’s eyes widened in his gaunt face.

  Quake gave a nod, and I walked over to the fucker. He stood, practically shaking in his baggy jeans. “The woman who had to climb down a fucking rope ladder to get away from you? Yeah, she's mine.”

  I punched him, and he fell to his knees, blood splattering from his nose, dripping like a leaky faucet. While it had felt good, he was a worthless piece of shit. He cried, actually cried when confronted with breaking into Emory’s house.

  “Dude, she wouldn’t give over the scripts,” he said, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood dripping down his chin.

  “So you break into her house. What were you planning to do?”

  He held up his hands as if to ward me off. His eyes were wide and wild, and I recognized a guy hyped on drugs, on meth, and he was flying now. “Just scare her, that’s all, man.”

  Just scare her. Right. If he’d been high in Emory’s house like he was now, he wouldn’t have stopped at finding her keys or a script pad and leaving. He’d gone up the stairs looking for Emory. Turned on the fucking light. Shouted for her. He was either a complete dumbass or had intended to kill her… and other things first. My anger flared back to life.

  “Do you know who I am?” I growled. For once, I wanted someone to recognize me.

  He nodded. He glanced to Quake, who stood beside me, arms crossed over his chest.

  “Who am I?” I asked. I wanted confirmation that he knew it wasn't just Quake and the MC watching out for Emory.

  “The…The Outlaw.” Good, he knew who he was facing now.

  “Yeah, and like I said, Emory’s my woman.” When he stood on shaky legs and started to back away from me, not just in fear, but absolute terror, I continued. “I’m a more matched fight than a woman, don’t you think?”

  I cracked my knuckles, and I saw him swallow when Quake walked out the front door, leaving the two of us alone.

  “You just wanted to scare her? Well, dude, I don’t plan on just scaring you.” I stepped toward him and sought the retribution I wanted.

  Five minutes later, I met Quake on the front steps, and Frank tossed me a rag while the other men went in to retrieve the guy. I wiped blood from my knuckles as the fucker was dragged out of the hovel he called home and tossed into the backseat of the second SUV. One guy held up his hands, and I tossed him the rag. He walked over and leaned against the closed door, face impassive, waiting for direction from Quake.

  The air was heavy, and I was sweating from my exertions, but the night was still. Only the far-off hum of the highway and a distant siren broke the quiet. If someone wanted to cause trouble, they'd take one look at our little group and run the other way. I shook Quake’s hand. “I’m done here.”

  “Frankie will take you back to your car.” Beating the shit out of someone was one thing. What Quake planned next for the guy was out of my league, and I wanted nothing to do with it. Quake didn't want me involved either, which was fine with me. As he walked over to the SUV with bloodied Ralph inside, his man moved to open the door for him. They climbed in then drove away, leaving me alone with Frankie.

  “I thought my dad was fucked up,
” I told him, watching the brake lights fade away, “but yours is scary as shit.”

  25

  EMORY

  * * *

  I had no idea how late Gray would be, but I forced myself to stay awake and decided watching TV would work. It had taken half an hour to figure out how to use his remote for the complex, very male electronic system. By the time I heard the elevator doors whoosh open, I had practically lost my mind from really bad cable. I hopped up and saw him over the back of the couch. He looked… perfect.

  He hung his hat on the hook, toed off one boot, then the other, walking into the kitchen. He went to the sink and scrubbed his hands, flicked off the water and dried them with a dish towel. I didn't think too hard about why he needed to clean up. He didn’t seem hurt at all, no cuts or bruises, but there was a stain, something that looked like blood, on his shirt. I wasn’t going to ask what had happened because right now, I didn’t care. He was fine, and he was here.

  “Gray,” I almost sobbed, relief washing over me with a strong pulse of adrenaline.

  Turning around, his hardened gaze softened, and he held out his arms. I ran around the couch and launched myself at him, our mouths meeting. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my dress riding up my thighs. His hands cupped my bottom as he turned and walked down the hall to his room, carrying me as if I weighed nothing. He put one knee on the bed and lowered me down onto my back, never breaking the kiss.

  This was desperate and frantic, the need almost feral. My hands gripped the front of his shirt, and like I’d been longing to do since I first laid eyes on him, I ripped it open, the snaps popping. He helped me get it off him and tossed it onto the floor. We rolled so that Gray could slide the zipper of my dress down my back. He worked it down and off me, his motions just as eager as mine. But then he paused, and my hands stopped working on his belt. He was looking down at me, his breath ragged.

  “What?” I asked.

  He brushed a hand over the swell of my breast. “Pink and lacy.” His voice was dark and guttural.

  Pushing off the bed, he stood and looked down at me, his eyes heated, his lips slick. “I love you.”

  I sucked in a breath at his words. It was not what I expected to hear but exactly what I wanted. I came up and onto my knees before him. “Gray, I… this is insane.” I brushed my hair back from my face, ran a palm down his bare chest. All hot skin and steely muscles beneath. “I love you, too.”

  His eyes flared, and he took a step back. I let my hand fall to my side.

  “Why?”

  I frowned. “Why do I love you? Why do you love me?”

  He shook his head. “The first time I saw you, it was like I’d been sucker punched. You smiled at that bartender making you the fake gin and tonic, and I was jealous. Jealous! I wanted you to smile like that at me. And when you did, that first time, I fell in love right then and there.”

  I couldn’t help the smile or the tears. Gray’s beautiful face blurred, and I didn’t see him step closer to wipe away the tears that streamed down my cheeks. “Shh, don’t be sad.”

  A watery laugh escaped. “Sad? I’m happy, you idiot!”

  “I’m not an idiot, I’m just distracted by you in your pink lace.”

  The tears disappeared, and I flushed as his gaze raked over me.

  I continued to watch him as I brought my hands up to my breasts, cupped them. His pupils dilated, and he licked his lips. “Baby, what are you doing?”

  “That bartender? I gave him a smile. You? I’m giving you everything.”

  “Everything?” Gray repeated, closing the distance between us.

  As I undid the front clasp of my new bra, I said, “Everything.”

  Epilogue

  EMORY

  * * *

  The event center was packed, the noise obscenely loud. I had no idea a night of MMA fighting was something like a concert, with fancy lighting, blasting music and dramatic entrances. While I knew the basic rules of a fight—I couldn’t be an MMA coach’s girlfriend without knowing something—having Chris and Simon guide me through each match was a big help. Reed’s was the fight of the night, so it was last in the lineup. Needless to say, I was nervous. Nervous for Reed, even though he’d been training hard, and nervous for Gray.

  Neither of them needed it based on what Chris had told me, but I couldn’t help it. Even with all the hours and hours of hard practices, it was still a fight, and I didn’t want Reed to get hurt. Perhaps it was the mother in me thinking it, but based on the fights I'd seen so far, I had good reason. Eyebrows had split open, noses smashed, kidneys hit, solid leg kicks thrown. It was hard not to wince at the amount of blood, and I worked in the ER. I was just thrilled Gray’s fighting days were behind him, and he was now on the sidelines.

  Even though Chris was beside me—he was home for Thanksgiving break—I realized I, like Gray, was on the sidelines, the sidelines of my son's life. Gray had moved on from his fighting days, and I’d moved on from mothering a child. Chris might still be my baby, my six-foot-plus baby, but he was an adult now. Oh, I’d verbally kick his ass if he needed it, but I had no doubt he got plenty of that at the Naval Academy. So I just enjoyed his presence, being here with me. For me and for Gray.

  I hadn’t told Chris anything about Gray besides his first name before we arrived at Parents’ Weekend. Turned out, he knew all about The Outlaw, and so had many of his classmates. While he’d been impressed with Gray’s fighting career, he’d been more concerned about how he treated me. It had been fun watching Gray squirm a little, for he knew Chris came first with me, and his opinion was crucial. After my assurance that Gray was worthy of my attentions, Chris had stood down although I had no doubt he'd be waiting for Gray to mess up. Even at eighteen, he was prepared to protect me from a man who’d fought professionally. If fists were involved, there would be no contest, but I was proud of Chris for being ready to take him on anyway. I’d fought back tears because neither guy would have understood the reasoning for them, and instead, I’d only smiled. After that show of testosterone, we’d gone out for lunch in Annapolis, and it had gone… well. Really, really well.

  That had been a month ago. Since then, I’d spent most of my nights at Gray’s apartment. At first, I’d had no interest in returning to my house, scared of another maniac breaking in. Even though Gray and Quake had reassured me the man wouldn’t bother me again, I’d still been wary. I also wanted to be with Gray. My place was with him, and he made that very clear night after night, and sometimes during the day, too.

  Reed beat his opponent in the second round with an arm bar. It had happened too fast for me to see, but I had to admit, my focus had been on Gray. He'd shouted to Reed from outside the cage, his attention razor sharp on every move his fighter made. I loved that intensity about him, especially when it was focused on me.

  When he’d gone into the cage as Reed’s arm was lifted in triumph, Gray turned and looked for me in the crowd. He grinned and gave me a wink. This was his moment, his time to shine, and he’d stopped and thought about me, to turn and share it with me. Chris nudged me, and Simon rolled his eyes, but I couldn’t help the grin that escaped. It couldn’t get any better than this.

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  About Vanessa Vale

  Vanessa Vale is the USA Today bestselling author of sexy romance novels, including her popular Bridgewater historical series and hot contemporary romances. With over one million books sold, Vanessa writes about unapologetic bad boys who don't just fall in love, they fall hard. Her books are available worldwide in multiple languages in e-book, print, audio and even as an online game. When she's not writing, Vanessa savors the insanity of raising two boys and figuring out how many meals she can make with a pressure cooker. While she's not as skilled at social media as her kids, she loves to interact with readers.