Dare to Lie

by Jen McLaughlin

“Nah.” He rolled his shoulders. “Just the typical funeral stuff. Crying. Silence. Dead dude in a coffin, going into the ground, and getting a bunch of dirt thrown over him.”

  It might sound cavalier, his attitude toward one of our fallen men, but when you were surrounded by death, and caused it more often than not, you had to look at it in whatever way helped you sleep at night. I didn’t begrudge him that. “I figured.”

  “You chasing a hot piece of ass last night, like usual?”

  I shrugged, avoiding Tate’s eyes. “Something like that.”

  “Of course.”

  Chris came into the room, beelining right for me. He nodded at Frankie as he sat. “Hey, man. How’s the Charger?”

  “Getting there.” Frankie’s eyes lit up, and a piece of blond hair fell on his forehead at the mention of his baby—his ’67 burnt orange Charger. The car was older than its owner by twenty years, but was in impeccable shape. “I just got my new exhaust in. Want to lend me a hand slapping that baby on?”

  “That was more Luc’s thing than mine,” Chris said, crossing his ankle over his knee. “But I can try, man.”

  Only I saw the pain flash across his expression as he lowered his head and remembered his best friend—my brother—and only I knew the full reason for that sadness. However, Lucas was now happily living out his life with Heidi Green in hiding. Instead of wallowing in guilt, he should try being happy for Lucas instead. As far as the gang knew, Lucas was dead.

  I’d made sure of it.

  He was free, in a way none of us would ever be.

  “Thanks.” Frankie tipped his head toward Tate, who sat down beside Brian and tugged on his tie. Tate was the only one who wasn’t wearing the dark brown leather Sons of Steel Row coat. “Looks like we’re about to start.”

  Tate sat, resting his hands on the table. He was twenty-nine, only a few years older than me, but he commanded a presence that made him seem older. He wore his authority as well as I wore my charming-younger-brother role. “Bitter Hill came at us when we were down, and I won’t let this go unanswered. We claimed this part of the city as our own, and didn’t see the snakes creeping into our midst until it was too late. We gave them guns, and helped them grow, and now they’re attacking us on our ground. It started with Lucas Donahue, and it will end with the attack on Gus’s funeral. It’s time to take down Bitter Hill, for good.”

  Everyone around the table nodded, including me. I wanted them taken down as much as Tate did, though for different reasons. I had a dream, a ridiculous one, of making Steel Row clean again. My mother had tried to give us a life full of promise and happiness and goddamn unicorns, despite the fact that our father didn’t give a damn about us. I wanted to turn this town back into a place where people could dream, without nightmares chasing them.

  Tate pointed at the table once the nods and voices of agreement calmed down. “We need to go back to the plan Chris came up with, from before we thought everything had cooled on both sides. We need to attack them on their home turf, like they dared to do to us. And we need to hit them harder than they hit us.”

  He was right.

  We needed to reestablish our power over Bitter Hill, and destroy them.

  Once Agent Torres heard that we were planning to attack, the DEA would start to plan their own operation. When it was all over, there would be nothing left of Bitter Hill. Their days of drug running and ruining innocent lives would be over.

  For all Steel Row’s crimes, we kept to ourselves, and we didn’t hurt those who didn’t deserve it. It was our code. Yet if the DEA could take down two gangs in one swoop . . .

  They certainly wouldn’t say no.

  Which is what had me so damn uneasy about this whole mess.

  Logically, I knew these men were criminals. They would pull a trigger without hesitation, and they’d kill me if they found out the truth. Yet I still felt a loyalty to the Sons that I couldn’t shake, no matter how hard I tried. They’d given Lucas a home, a job, and it had allowed him to provide for me, which was extremely important to him after Ma died.

  They’d saved us.

  And I didn’t want to take them down.

  Chris pulled out the map he’d made and we studied the layout of the Bitter Hill clubhouse. By the time the sun started to set, we had a plan—block off the back door, set a fire, and cut down the survivors as they ran out the front door. I could just picture the paperwork now, and I made my own plans to get clearance from Agent Torres to pull the trigger if need be. I was encouraged not to take men down if I didn’t have to, but if I had to choose between one of my brothers dying and one of those assholes—

  There was no choice.

  I might be DEA, but I was a Son, too.

  If it came time to choose between the two parts of my life, I knew what I’d choose—but it wouldn’t be easy. It would tear me the hell apart.

  I’d never be put back together again.

  “I’ve got a guy,” Chris said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll make sure they’re still doing their mandatory meetings on the second Fridays of the month. If they are, then it’ll be a full house.”

  “Perfect,” Tate agreed, cracking a rare smile. “So . . . we wait two weeks.”

  “Patience will pay off in the end,” Frankie agreed. “If anyone—anyone—comes out of there, we shoot. No questions asked,” Frankie said, staring at each of us in turn.

  Brian shifted, and ran his hands through his blond hair. “Even women?”

  “If they’re there, then they deserve it.” Frankie looked harder than I’d ever seen him. Colder, too. This war had brought out a side of him I’d never known. “After all, they had no qualms taking out Lucas’s side piece when they—”

  Tate shook his head, cutting Frankie off without a word. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I can’t agree with that. We’re not monsters, and we won’t take down innocent people.”

  I eyed Tate with new respect. He might be the head of a gang, but the man had morals. And that was more than you could say for half the agents I knew. “Seconded.”

  “Third,” Chris said.

  Brian nodded. “Fourth.”

  “Fifth.” Tommy winced. “Sorry, man, but I’m not shooting a chick.”

  “And that’s enough to be vetoed.” Frankie stood. “Looks like I’m outnumbered, then.”

  “Good thing you’re such an understanding guy.” Tate clapped him on the back. “All right. It’s settled. Chris, check with your guy in Bitter Hill, make sure they’re all going to be at that meeting in two weeks. If the intel is good . . . we attack at 8:03, just because that’s a weird time no one will suspect.”

  There was a general sound of assent, and slowly the men cleared out, one by one. I nodded at Chris, and then we made our way to the door together.

  I only made it two steps before:

  “Donahue?” Tate called out.

  I stiffened in response. “Yeah, boss?”

  “I need a minute.”

  Chris side-eyed me and whispered, “Again?”

  “Wait for me in the bar,” I muttered, turning to face Tate with a carefree grin I wasn’t really feeling. “Sure thing, sir.”

  The door shut, and it was just me and Tate. Funny how the man barely paid any attention to me before yesterday—and now he wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. It was like he sensed I’d betrayed him, and fucked his baby sister in my kitchen. I wouldn’t put it past him.

  He was good.

  Too good.

  “How did things go last night?” he asked, pouring himself some more whiskey. “With the auction?”

  I crept closer, shoving my hands in my pockets, trying my best to look as innocent as possible. “Good. A lot of money was raised for the charity. Your sister seemed pleased.”

  “Did she?” he asked curiously, offering me a glass of whiskey. “Did you speak to her last n
ight?”

  I took the drink, forcing my expression to remain bland. “For a bit, yeah. I introduced myself, told her I was there to fill in. She seems like a good kid.”

  “She is.” Tate sat. I didn’t. After all, he didn’t invite me to. “I spoke with her earlier. She had nothing but good things to say about you. Said you brought in the most money, and were quite polite, and a perfect gentleman at all times.”

  My grip tightened on the glass. His gaze dipped down, so I forced myself to chill the hell out, and hoped it wasn’t too late. “I tried my best, sir.”

  “Clearly you succeeded.”

  I shifted on my feet. “Would that be all, sir?”

  “No. We’ve got credible intel that Bitter Hill is planning an attack on our loved ones, to strike us in the worst way possible. I’ve done a good job at hiding her from everyone, clearly, but she’s my sister, and we see each other often enough I can’t help but worry . . .” Tate chugged his whiskey and set the glass down. “I can’t rule out the possibility they might have put two and two together.”

  Doubtful, since the DEA had never done so, and we were a hell of a lot smarter than Bitter Hill. Still, I understood his concern. I finished my drink with one swallow, but I held on to it. “Did you put some guards on her?”

  “Yeah. Some guys I hired are watching the building.” He tapped his chin. “But it’s not enough. I want someone watching over her more closely than that.”

  I stiffened, knowing where this was going but hoping like hell I was wrong. “Sir?”

  “She’s alone in her apartment, without a roommate. I want someone inside the building with her.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Someone like . . . you.”

  Well, shit. “What, exactly, are you asking, sir? You want me to sleep at her place as her—?”

  “Hell no.” He sat up straight, looking murderous.

  “Okay, sir,” I managed to say through my confusion.

  He reached into his pocket and tossed a metal key at me. I caught it easily, frowning down at it. “I have a second apartment in her complex. It’s right next to hers, and the walls are thin. I didn’t want some lowlife asshole moving in next to her, so I rented it out myself.”

  I laughed uneasily. “Seriously?”

  “Yes.” He narrowed his eyes on me, clearly not giving a damn that he took the protective-brother role to a whole new level. “I want you to stay there, and watch over her. Don’t talk to her, or draw attention to her. Just . . . watch.”

  Annnnnd here we go again.

  It was coming at me from all angles.

  I closed my fist around the gold key, its edges digging into my palm. Agent Torres would be ecstatic over this turn of events, because it would get me even closer to Skylar. Me? I felt nauseous. “Why me, sir? Why not any of the other older, more experienced men?”

  “I’m not saying I don’t trust the Sons, but . . .” He shrugged. “Are you trying to tell me I shouldn’t place my faith in you, Donahue?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  I left it at that.

  “Good.” He stood, smoothing his unwrinkled jacket. “221B. If she notices you and asks questions, tell her you’re new to the area, and a short-term renter, but don’t encourage her to be chatty. We don’t want to draw attention to her. It’s best if she doesn’t see you at all, so try for that.”

  I nodded, setting my empty glass down. “Yes, sir. Anything else I need to know?”

  “Never come straight from here to there, or vice versa, in case you’re being followed. Play it safe.” He tugged on his tie, watching me through his lashes. “And my earlier warning stands, of course. Don’t touch her, or I’ll kill you.”

  Does it count if I already did? I held my hands up. “Of course not, sir.”

  “Good.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Off you go, then. I’ll expect texts updating me every few hours, so I know she’s okay.”

  Greeeat. “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER 10

  SKYLAR

  It had been two days since I went home with Scotty Donahue and lost my virginity. Two days of sleepless nights, lonely hours in bed, and a lot of longing on my part. While he . . . he was probably already two or three girls past me by now. He wasn’t the type to pine away, or to try and keep a memory alive by keeping his penis firmly tucked inside his pants.

  Which had brought me to this moment . . . with this guy. Steven, a boy I’d just met a few hours ago, smiled at me as we walked up the stairs to my condo complex. I smiled back, but glanced away quickly, my heart pounding. Not out of excitement, or lust, or anything even half as promising as that. No, it was pounding because I felt absolutely nothing for him.

  I’d taken chemistry, and learned all about attraction and molecules, but this? Yeah. There was none of that. No pheromones. No pull. No chemistry.

  He might as well be my brother.

  I’d met him at the coffee shop near campus, where I’d been studying for my upcoming Advanced Neurological Sciences test. He’d come up to me and started flirting, opening with something about the brain and the most recent scientific research behind it all, and since I was feeling sorry for myself, I’d tried to keep an open mind. When he’d asked if I wanted to continue this discussion over a meal, I’d said yes . . .

  Even though I didn’t mean it.

  In my mind, I was trying to enjoy the newfound sexual freedom I had, attempting to find another man who made me feel the way Scotty had. It was a fruitless search.

  Clearly, my first instinct with him had been correct. We had an undeniable chemistry between us that couldn’t be replicated, no matter how hard I tried. Still, I’d brought Steven home anyway, so the least I could do was try to forget about those green eyes and that wavy red hair, since I’d never be seeing them again.

  “I’m right over here,” I called over my shoulder, leading him up to the second floor, trying my best to keep my tone flirty. “221A.”

  “You live there alone?” he asked slowly, glancing over his shoulder. “No roommate or anything?” Suddenly, something about him felt . . . off. Damn Tate and his millions of lectures about the dangers of bringing strange guys home. “No boyfriend . . . ?”

  I stopped outside my white wood door. “I have a brother.” I glanced at 221B, which had been empty for as long as I’d lived here. “. . . and a very protective neighbor.” I tapped my knuckles on the door gently, smiling. “Right here. Next to me. He watches over me.”

  Steven frowned and rested a hand on the wall, leaning close to me, smiling. “Well, then, we’ll have to be sure to be quiet. We wouldn’t want an angry neighbor barging in, now would we?”

  Actually . . . “I—”

  Before I could come up with something to say, Steven lowered his face to mine and kissed me, pressing me backward against the door. I gasped, caught off guard, and he took advantage of the opening to slip his tongue inside my mouth. I placed my hands on his chest, giving him a second to woo me, or to blow my metaphorical panties off like Scotty had done. It wasn’t awful, and he tasted nice, but it was about as pleasurable as a root canal. There was no wooing.

  And my panties weren’t going anywhere.

  Unfortunately.

  I pushed at his chest, but he just strained to get closer instead of getting the message. Turning my head to the side, I gasped for air and pushed harder. He latched on to my neck instead, sucking on it. “St-stop.”

  He froze, pulling back. He looked irritated, but he stopped trying to kiss me, even if he didn’t let me go yet. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, but I—” The door to 221B swung open, and then, as if by some weird twist of fate, Scotty Donahue stood there, looking tall, and handsome, and one hundred percent pissed off. For a second I thought I was hallucinating, but there was nothing fictional about the anger burning in those green eyes. “Scotty?”

  Scott
y frowned at the man who still held me, though in his defense, Steven was probably pretty distracted by the huge guy looking at him like he wanted to skin him alive; a man that he, more than likely, assumed was my overprotective neighbor. The one I’d made up.

  “Is there a problem here?” Scotty asked slowly, his tone harder than a diamond.

  Steven immediately released me. “No, man. No problem at all. I was just leaving.”

  “Excellent.” He lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers. “Bye.”

  Steven practically ran off, and then we were alone in the hallway. I clutched my purse to my chest, and stared at him. He wore a pair of ripped jeans, a blue T-shirt, and a dark brown leather jacket. He looked dangerous, sexy, and angry.

  At what?

  I had a feeling I was about to find out. “What—?” I licked my dry lips, and took a step closer. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” he shot back.

  “I live here. You don’t—”

  “Who the hell was that asshole?” he growled, fisting his hands at his sides. I glanced down, and sure enough, he was slowly releasing his fingers, one at a time. So . . . definitely angry, then. “Did you even know him before you brought him home?”

  “No . . .” I lifted my chin. “But I didn’t really know you either, when I went home with you. And that turned out okay, if you ask me.”

  “Why did you bring him here? Why did you let him kiss you?”

  I blinked. “Shouldn’t it be clear what I was after?”

  “Humor me,” he growled.

  “Okay . . . ?” I answered slowly, thrown off by what, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be jealousy. Which made no sense. Not coming from a guy like Scotty, who was a self-professed player who never double dipped—and why was he here? “I was hoping he’d kiss me, and make me feel good. I was hoping I’d want to do more than kiss him. I was hoping . . .”

  One step closer, and his jaw ticked. “You were hoping what?”

  “I was hoping he’d make me forget all about you, if we’re being one hundred percent honest with each other.” I lifted my chin. “Are we? Being honest?”