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

by Jen McLaughlin

I grinned so wide my face should have cracked. “Well, then, in that case . . . Heidi Greene Buchanan, will you do me the honor of becoming Heidi Donahue Fischer?”

  “Yes. Most definitely yes,” she said, kissing me again.

  Ending the kiss before I forgot about the ring and left it out here to rot, I picked it up from on top of the peach. “This was my mother’s ring. She asked me to keep it for when I decided to get married. I never thought I’d use it . . . but then again, I’d never thought I’d meet someone like you, either.”

  She held her hand out. It still trembled. “It’s beautiful. Perfect. I love you,” she said in a rush. “I love you so much.”

  Laughing, I slid it onto her finger and helped her to her feet. “I fucking love you, too,” I growled in her ear, backing her into the house. “And I’m gonna show you how much.”

  She clung to me, and our lips melded together perfectly, just like they always had. I’d known, after that first real kiss in my kitchen, that this thing we had going between us was forever. I hadn’t recognized the warm feelings she gave me for what they were, but deep down . . . I’d known. And it was why I’d refused to let her go.

  Kicking the door shut behind us, I lifted her onto the counter in the kitchen, stepping between her thighs and deepening the kiss even more. She undid my shirt, and within seconds it was on the floor. A minute later, the rest of our clothes were there, too.

  I broke off the kiss and stared into her blue eyes, unable to believe that this was my life now. I’d lucked out, won the jackpot in life. Not too long ago, I’d been so sure I’d never be free. That I’d never have the same freedom that everyone else in America had. But . . . I’d been wrong. I’d found that freedom. Heidi was it. And I was hers. I’d never forget that or take it for granted. “I love you, darlin’.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She kissed me again, her hands skimming over my chest. When she moved lower, closing them over my cock, I hissed through my teeth and rocked into her hand. She let out that husky laugh of hers that was sexy as hell, her fingers moving over the tip of my cock. “You like that, Lucky?”

  “I’m feeling pretty fucking lucky right now, so, yeah,” I said kissing a path down her body. Her neck. Her collarbone. Her breast. When I reached the hard pink tip, I took it into my mouth, sucking hard and scraping my teeth across it exactly like she liked it. Letting it go with a pop, I smirked up at her and knelt so I was head level with her hot, wet pussy. “How about you? Feeling lucky, darlin’?”

  Spreading her legs for me, she arched her back and buried her hands in my hair. “Yes. God yes.”

  Chuckling lightly, I closed my mouth over her clit, rolling my tongue over her in wide, light circles. By the time I reached the third circle, she was panting and clawing at my shoulders, begging for me to hurry up and just take her.

  So I moved even slower, of course.

  Her hips rocked against my mouth, and I could taste the sweetness of her orgasm coming, so close it was making her legs quake on either side of my head. I increased the pressure just enough to send her flying over the edge, and thrust two fingers inside of her at the same time. Her walls clamped down on me, and she stiffened, her mouth forming that perfect O that never failed to drive me insane.

  Growling, I stood and drove inside of her in one smooth motion. The second I was fully inside of her, she came again, her screams filling the kitchen and echoing off the tile floors. I thrust inside of her, again and fucking again, harder each time. Her nails scraped over my back and my balls pulled up tight to my body. Everything screamed for me to finish—to come, too—but I held back.

  I wanted more from her.

  Tossing her head back, she screamed out in frustration, closing her legs around my hips and digging her nails into my shoulders so hard it stung. “God, Lucas. Please.”

  Biting down on her neck, I lifted her slightly and plunged inside of her, hitting the spot that was guaranteed to make her come at least three times. She screamed, choked on a sob, and came, tightening all around my aching cock. Growling, I caught her mouth with mine and kept moving inside of her, hitting the same spot over and over again.

  By the time she came down from her second orgasm, I was fucking lost. I needed to reach completion inside of her more than I needed air, or water, or life.

  If I didn’t have her . . .

  I’d be nothing.

  I moved my hips faster, grunting as the orgasm took over my entire body, mind and soul. And she joined me, soaring through the clouds one last time before drifting back down to my arms. Burying my face in her neck, I struggled to catch my breath.

  It was useless. Around her, I’d always be breathless.

  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  She rested her head on my shoulder, sighing and tapping her fingers on my heart. I watched her, the diamond ring glistening in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. She still smelled like peaches. Sucking in a deep breath, I let her sweet scent wrap around me, hugging me close, and that all-too-familiar warmth spread through my veins all over again. Only now I knew what it was called.

  It was love.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, I would like to thank my husband, Greg, for always being there for me. You never doubted that I could get what I wanted, or succeed in this writers’ world, and your undying faith in me means everything.

  And my kids—Kaitlyn, Hunter, Gabriel, and Ameline—once you’re old enough to read these (if you ever read these), know that every book I wrote and every word I slaved over, I did it so I could be the best mom I could be. I hope I succeeded in that!

  To the rest of my family—Mom, Dad, Tina, Cynthia, MeeMaw, PeePaw, Carole, Greg, Danny, Riley, Connor, Erick, and Ashley—you’re all awesome! Thanks for always asking about my career, and what I was working on.

  To my friends—Liz, Jay, Cora, Jen, Chelsea, Tiffany, Megan, and so many more of you that it would take twenty pages just to write all your names . . . but you know who you are—thanks for always being there with me at conferences and in real life, to laugh, talk, and hug.

  To my agent, Louise, you’ve never given up on the fact that you would get me exactly where I wanted to be. You told me you would do it, and you did. I’m here, and I couldn’t be any more grateful for everything you do for me on a daily basis.

  And, Kristin, thank you for being such an awesome editor and sounding board. Without your tireless devotion to my books, I wouldn’t have gotten where I am, either. You’re always there when we need you, and that’s, like, a superhuman power.

  And to my editor here at New American Library/Signet Eclipse, Laura Fazio, thank you so much for your love for this book and my writing! It’s been such a pleasure to work with you, and I look forward to many more books with you! Ever since we met at RT, I knew it would be a match made in heaven. Thank you for thinking the same!

  To everyone at Penguin who has worked or will work on this book, thank you for being such a great company to work with. You all rock!

  Lastly, to anyone reading this: Thank you. I wouldn’t be here without you. I’ll see you next time.

  Read on for a sneak peek at the next

  heart-pounding novel

  in New York Times bestselling author

  Jen McLaughlin’s

  Sons of Steel Row series . . .

  Coming soon from

  CHAPTER 1

  CHRIS

  Sometimes you had to take a look at your life—a good, hard, brutally honest look—and admit that somewhere along the way, you fucked up big-time. Just as important, sometimes you had to accept that the reason you were in an alley, bleeding and dying behind a busted-up Laundromat, was because . . . those choices you made? The screwups, the wrong turns, all the things you wish you could take back?

  Yeah. Those were the reasons why you deserved this.

  To die alone as violently as you lived.

  I turned my head to spit out blood, painting it across the dirty concrete wall next to
me, and laughed at the almost smiley face it made, because why the hell not? But my laugh made my aching ribs hurt more than before, so it ended on a groan. Clutching my ribs, I gingerly rolled over and glowered up at the sky. The uneven cement under my back dug into my already aching spine. The docks were nearby, the smell of week-old garbage and rotting rat corpses surrounded me.

  The moon was absent tonight, and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen in the sky. The stars shone down on me—never changing, always steady—mocking me with their bright futures. While I probably wouldn’t last the night.

  Because I tried to kill my best friend . . .

  And he let me live.

  Lucas Donahue should’ve killed me, instead of just shooting me and cracking my ribs in self-defense. He was the closest thing I had to a brother and I’d engineered a bloody coup that had nearly cost him everything. He should have shot me down in cold blood, should have put me down like the rabid dog I was. I deserved it. But instead, he showed me mercy. He let me walk away.

  What the hell was I supposed to do with that?

  The moment he’d let me walk out of his apartment with a crumpled-up, bloody note in my hand giving me everything I wanted, I knew I made a huge mistake. I should never have attacked my blood brother to get ahead in a gang that—more likely than not—would end up killing me anyway. I’d stupidly wanted to prove to Pops that I could be the man he wanted me to be.

  Cold. Ruthless. A killer.

  I was all those things, but not to Lucas.

  Betraying Lucas was the single biggest regret in my life. Normally, I didn’t wallow in the what-ifs or the shouldabeens. I didn’t waste my damn time with what I could have done, or what I could have been. But if I could go back in time and undo all the shit I’d done to Lucas . . .

  Man, I would turn that damn clock back so quickly, it’d snap in half.

  The bloodstained note in my pocket burned against my thigh. It named me Lucas’s successor, just like I’d wanted. And just like I’d wanted, Lucas was out of the picture, out of the gang. When his younger brother, Scotty, showed up, gun in hand, at his place, I knew that no matter the outcome, I wouldn’t win.

  But truth be told, even before that, I’d known I’d made a mistake.

  Lucas had looked at me with hope, thinking I’d come to help him, and a part of me died back in that apartment with the rest of the men who dared to attack Lucas. When he had realized I was the mastermind all along . . .

  There’d been no coming back from that.

  It had been too late.

  Too late to say, “You know what, man? Never mind. We’re cool.” The second Lucas had found out I was trying to kill him to move up the ranks—I’d known I was a dead man, whether he pulled the trigger on his gun or not. Angry at what I had become, I’d lashed out at Lucas. Tried to get him to pop me to put me out of my misery. But he hadn’t. He’d done the honorable thing and let me live. He hadn’t wanted to kill me, even after all the shit I’d done to him. He’d told Scotty to let me walk away . . . and I had.

  Now, with Scotty’s help, Lucas was gone.

  Dead. Only he wasn’t. By now, he was probably miles outside Boston and away from this slum we called Steel Row—while I would die in the worst section of Southie, knowing I put power above brotherhood.

  I should have lived the life that Lucas led. He was the type of guy who put friends first. Family first. The type of guy who saved a guy’s neck, even if that guy had just tried to kill him, because he’d made a promise he’d be blood brothers with him when they were kids.

  And here I was, a fucking fool.

  Any minute now, my phone would ring with the news of Lucas’s “death,” and I would be expected to be shocked. Raging. Grief-stricken. And the thing was, even though I knew he was alive and well . . . I was all those things.

  Because I’d become a monster.

  I laughed again. “Rest in peace, Lucas Donahue.”

  As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Wincing, I dug my sore fingers into my pocket and pulled out my iPhone. Squinting at the screen, I sighed. It was Tate, the head of the Sons of Steel Row, my gang. Time to put on a good act. “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” Tate asked, his voice hard.

  I struggled to sit up, resting my back against the concrete wall, right next to my bloody smiley face. “I ran into some Bitter Hill guys, and they did a number on me. I’m just trying to recover a bit before I head back in. Why? What’s wrong, sir?”

  “We just got bad news . . . about Lucas.”

  I rubbed my forehead. It hurt like a bitch. I didn’t know what Scotty had or hadn’t told him yet, so I didn’t want to say too much. “Where is he?”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s gone.” Tate made a growling noise. “Fucking Bitter Hill took him and his girl out. They burnt the place down, leaving nothing but bones and ash, but the dental records match. Lucas is dead.”

  I blinked. How the hell had they managed to pull off a damn dental records match—and so quickly? I’d hung around after the attack to make sure Lucas and Heidi had actually kept their word and left. They had. Scotty had waved them away with a smile. They weren’t dead, and yet . . . Oh, shit.

  Son of a fucking bitch.

  It all made sense now.

  Scotty had seemed so sure that Lucas and Heidi could get away, just as he agreed to keep my secret. And when he’d come barging into Lucas’s apartment, the way he’d held the gun had been telling. It had screamed his true identity, clear as day. And the way he’d stood, straight and at attention with a firm grip on his pistol—like they teach at the academy. Scotty was a fucking cop.

  In the eyes of Steel Row, that was worse than what I’d done. It was worse than a betrayal. Beyond a death sentence, it was a mutilation sentence.

  If I told Tate about this, Scotty would be dead within the hour, and no one would ever find all the pieces that would put him back together. My position in the gang would be more secure than ever before, if I helped take him down. I would successfully take over Lucas’s position, and Pops would finally be proud of me.

  It was the perfect way to secure my future.

  But it was Scotty Donahue, Lucas’s little brother . . .

  The brother of the man I’d wronged.

  “Chris?” Tate said, his voice raised. “Are you there?”

  I must’ve been silent too long. But my shock over Scotty’s occupation would double as my grief over Lucas’s demise. I cleared my throat. “Y-yeah. I just . . . I can’t . . . I’m gonna fucking kill them all. Every last one. Right now.”

  “No.” Something slammed down on wood. More than likely on Tate’s walnut desk. He loved opulence as much as I loved women. “We need to be smart about this. We’ve got enough cop focus on us right now, and we don’t need more by bringing a gang war down on Steel Row. All that’ll do is land our asses behind bars. I think we’ve all done enough time.”

  There it was. The opening to mention my suspicions about Scotty’s side job as an undercover. It would be so easy to do. A hell of a lot easier than shooting Lucas had been. “Then what am I supposed to do? They killed my best friend. I—I . . . Shit. I can’t let that go.”

  “You have to, until we have a foolproof plan. Until then . . .” Tate slammed something else down, and I heard someone speak in a low voice. “Okay, yeah. Your pops called in from the airport. He suggested you take some time to yourself, and I agree. Lie low. Heal. Drink. Fuck it out of your system. Whatever works for you.”

  I gritted my teeth. Of course my pops immediately assumed that I was weak and would need time to heal. And worse than that, if he knew I had tried—and failed—to kill Lucas, and that his death was a ruse, he wouldn’t be so quick to protect me. And I would get one of his legendary beatings that would make a gunshot to the shoulder and a few cracked ribs look like a walk in the park. “Are you sure? Don’t you need me there? I mean . . . Christ. Lucas.”

  “I know.” Tate sighed. “You do you. We’ve got this. We’ll make plans, and when we
have anything concrete—”

  “I’ll be the first to pull the trigger.”

  “I promise,” Tate agreed.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, glancing down at my blood-soaked T-shirt and brown leather jacket. If I didn’t sew up that bullet hole soon, I would go from dying to dead. “I appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The line went dead, and I dropped my hand to my thigh. Holding up the phone took too much effort. Hurt too much. But it was nothing compared to the guilt trying to choke the life out of me. Banging my head on the wall hard enough to see stars all over again, I said, “Son of a bitch, Scotty.”

  Didn’t he know how much danger he was in by doing this? By pretending to be in the gang while reporting back to the boys? If Tate found out about Scotty . . .

  Gritting my teeth, I struggled to my feet, wavering.

  I’d lost a lot of blood, and unless I truly wanted to die in this alley, I needed to get moving. There was a closed pharmacy in the swanky part of town, outside of Steel Row, which Southies generally avoided. But this one was in the Sons’ employ, thanks to Pops and his fondness for gambling. If I could get in through the back door, I could grab supplies and pain meds, stitch myself up, and then . . .

  Then what?

  Fuck if I knew.

  Trust that Scotty, the cop, didn’t turn me into Tate? Trust that he wouldn’t tell the man of my deceit and betrayal? If he told them, they would kill me, no matter what Pops said. I would be a dead man.

  Even worse, what if Scotty used the other side of his advantage—and turned me into the boys? Told them all the shit I’d done and locked me away behind bars?

  Maybe I should tell Tate about Scotty’s dirty little secret first and be responsible for yet another “disappearance” in the Donahue family.

  Or . . . I could just hide out.

  Wait and see how all this blew over.

  Nothing good ever came from rash decisions, and after the death of four Bitter Hill guys, there was more than likely going to be some reaction. And that backlash would circle around to me. I’d sworn Phil and his men to secrecy when I hired them to take Lucas out, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t blabbed to someone.