by Evelyn Glass
She suspected that the answer was going to make her feel very afraid. She tried to push that thought away. It wasn’t going to help. Not unless she was going to try and make a break for it.
“What are we looking for?”
He sighed. “I was hoping for a scribbled note or a help me message written on the window in lipstick. Something obvious. It looks like someone’s been through here.”
“Could she have just hired someone to clean for her? Something less sinister?”
He shook his head without even looking at her. “Not Abbey. She hates having people in her space. I’ve been offering to hire someone for her for years, but she refuses. Says she’d never trust anyone being here without her watching over them, and it even then she’d be worried about blinking.”
“How would she feel about me being here?”
He gave her a baleful look and didn’t say anything. “I hope that she gets to yell at me about it. I really do. I might have to buy her a new apartment.”
That was an interesting comment. “Did you buy her this one?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “When Abbey moved up here, she didn’t have a lot of cash, and she had a brand-new baby to take care of. I helped her get set up. The firm selling these condos owed me a favor, so we cut a deal. It’s a safe place. Good building to raise a kid in.”
“You’re a good brother-in-law.” She’d said it without thinking, just the kind of compliment people were supposed to make. The way he winced surprised her deeply.
“I try,” he said. “I’m going to go look in the bedroom. Can you check out the bathroom? I don’t know what the hell kind of crap she has in there. You wear—” he gestured at her in a vague sort of up-and-down way “—makeup. You’ll know if something’s out of place.”
Well. That was annoying and dismissive. Just because he was right, she was wearing makeup, didn’t mean that she had a damn idea what this particular woman should have in her cupboards and drawers. But doing something would distract her from the awkwardness of being in someone else’s space when that person wouldn’t want her to be there. She followed his directions down the hall, to the small bathroom, and started opening the medicine cabinet and drawers.
The first thing she noticed was that Abbey clearly spent a lot of time on her hair. Emma was familiar with some of the products from keeping her own curls under control. The next thing she noticed was that the woman had as many anxiety prescriptions as she did. She counted two separate antidepressants, one as-needed anxiety med, and one expired bottle of a pain medication. It had been prescribed to Abbey Jenner, though, so that was a positive sign.
Her own small orange prescription bottle pressed into the flesh of her breast. She absolutely never left the house without her prescriptions. Most of the time, just knowing the bottle was available was enough to make sure that she didn’t need it, but sometimes, when it was panic attack or meds, having the option readily available was so important. Maybe Abbey had a smaller, less noticeable pill bottle that she carried with her, but still. She doubted that Abbey would purposefully disappear without her meds. Unless… her meds were off, and she’d done something to hurt herself.
But that wouldn’t explain what had happened to Mia. Emma pushed that thought away as far too depressing and useless and kept looking. She found midrange cosmetics, facial cleansers, tampons, birth control pills, and basic medications in both child and adult doses. Under the sink were spare toilet paper, cleaning products, and a blow dryer and flat iron. The shower was cleaner than Emma’s, and even the area around the toilet was clean of dust and dirt. The bathroom was completely spotless.
She left the bathroom and walked back into the main room. Dean wasn’t there. She glanced into the master bedroom—still horrifyingly clean—and didn’t see him there.
There was a second bedroom, further down the hall. She glanced into it - what had to be Mia’s room - and saw him standing over the bed, his face in his hands. He’d shrugged off his leather jacket for the first time, which meant that she could see the tattoo around his wrist.
Her blood ran absolutely cold. There was only one group in the city that would have a tattoo of a horned devil in chains wrapped around their left wrist. Anyone else who tried to wear that mark would find themselves burned. She’d seen members of Night Titans at the various clubs in the city. They were generally decent guys, for guys who deliberately joined outlaw organizations and worked as enforcers for various medium level bad guys in their neighborhood, but they were no one she fucking wanted to associate with. And here she was, trapped in an apartment with someone she barely knew, someone who had the authority to call around and tell people what to do, demand that she not call the police, and had the physical strength to force her to comply with any plan he had.
As carefully and quietly as she could, she stepped back down the hallway and into the living room area. She moved a little faster then, hurrying into the bathroom as she pulled her phone out of her cleavage. She hit the power button, flailing a little bit as she waited for it to stop flashing its logo and find a cell tower. Her heart was pounding in her ears, the blood throbbing through her so fast she struggled to focus. As soon as her contacts were available, she tapped Favorites, and then the picture of Cassidy. The phone started to ring and then went to voicemail.
“Cass,” she whispered, hushed. “Cass, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I think I’m in trouble.”
Like a scene from a horror movie, she glanced up at Dean, standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and fury on his face. He swiped the phone out of her hands, tapped to end the call, then dropped it in the sink. Emma rushed him, her mind dazed with fear and fury at his control, but he caught her easily, twisting her hands up. The move put her up against the door and stole her breath from her. He pressed up against her, hips to shoulders.
He was trying to be fierce, she could feel it in his eyes, but he was also magnetized, pulled hard to her the same way she was against him. She could feel him, still hard against her, and she didn’t think it was just the adrenaline. She rolled her hips against him and felt a strange sense of relief as his lips tightened.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice tight with more than anger.
“Being afraid,” she said. “Because something’s wrong, and you’re not telling me everything.” She turned her head, glancing pointedly at the tattoo on his wrist.
He followed her gaze, and his expression flared with horror. She thought he’d step away, she thought he’d hit her. She did not expect him to drop his head, placing his lips just a breath away from hers. She was shocked when she closed the distance, pressing up onto her toes to lean into the kiss.
Chapter Five
Dean
None of what he was doing was making sense. But Emma was in his arms, kissing him back, and when he released her hands, they wrapped around his neck, pulling him more tightly against her. He was so hard he was in pain, and if he thought he could take the edge off by spinning her around and fucking her while she gripped the sink, he would have done it. He needed the release, the chance to focus on something other than her amazing body and sparkling eyes. But she didn’t know anything about him, and goddamnit, he had rules for a reason. No matter how horny he was. Fucking a virtual stranger in Abbey’s apartment was not within the rules.
His hand skated down to cup her heavy tit, teasing at the nipple which was easy to locate, even with one of those horrible foam bras women were obsessed with. She groaned heavily, rolling her hips against him, and it almost ended him right there. He forced himself to back off – to let the kiss come to a natural end.
“I need a rain check,” he panted, adjusting himself and letting her see it. “We gotta deal with this first. And then I’ll happily give you everything you want. That work for you?”
Her eyes were glossy with need, and her lips were open, her breathing rough. “Can’t promise I won’t make you watch me touch myself if you put me back in that car without giving me some relief. What
the hell is it about you?”
Dean was overwhelmed by the image of Emma in the passenger’s seat, her feet braced up on the dash, her fingers buried deep in her pussy as her head rolled with the sensations. Rules, dammit. Rules. Focus, you shit for brains.
“Right back at you,” he said. “Heat of the moment? I don’t know. Maybe we’ll take the edge off for both of us. Soon. But we gotta get some shit out of the way first.”
“Yeah,” she said. She took a moment, straightening her clothes, even though they were still neat, and smoothing her hair, which had probably never been neat in her life. “Yeah, okay.” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright, but she looked nearly respectable. Shame. “Did you find anything in there?”
“No. You?”
“No.”
“Who were you calling?” She was silent for a moment, and the sharp edge came back to his voice. “Was it the cops?”
“No!” Emma shook her head, almost looking offended by the suggestion. “I said I wouldn’t.”
“Then what’s going on?”
Her gaze flicked to the side for a moment, her teeth closed on her lower lip, and the innocent vixen expression almost did in his ragged self-control. He was doing his damnedest to maintain an exterior veneer of I-got-this, but inside, he was in an utter panic, verging on frantic.
Fucking her would give him a rush and a focus that could help him figure out what was going on, but at the same time, the idea that he was indulging in his own physical needs when his baby girl and the person closest to him in the world, were in danger, was a splash of cold water. That still somehow did nothing to calm his rampaging hormones.
“I was calling my friend,” she said. “I just… got scared, and I needed someone to tell me that I was going to be okay. You’re not a good guy, and I was afraid of being here alone with you. I wanted an out.”
That was the cold water he needed. He felt his expression chill down, his body going cold and unresponsive.
“I’m not a good guy,” he said, his voice flat.
Other people had been intimidated by that tone for most of his life, but it seemed to urge her on.
“Yes! I know what that coat of arms on your wrist means, and I don’t associate with guys like you.” She stood up straight, and he suddenly noticed how tall she was. He was over six feet, and she came right up to his eyes, just a few inches shorter than him. In flats. Impressive. He’d be able to do all kinds of filthy things with her. Dammit, stop.
“Guys like me,” he repeated.
“Yes.” The silence stretched, and she filled it, just like he’d known she would. “Guys who are into —dealing drugs, weapons, and hurting people. For money, of all the worthless things. You got Mia and her mother into trouble, and it’s probably because of some fucking turf war or because you shot someone who didn’t deserve it, or — or —” she trailed off, biting her lip again, and staring past him.
It was kind of funny. He was annoyed that she thought all of that about him, but he was more annoyed that she thought all of that about the Night Titans. He and Connell had put so much fucking work into rehabbing the image of the club, turning them into the guys who protected women at the clinic downtown, harassed by protesters as they got out of their cars. Or the guys who would turn up in the dark of night to beat the shit out of some scumbag diddling his girlfriend’s kids. And they were still thought of like this.
“I hate to break it to you,” he said, a little humor leaking back into his voice, “but we’re none of those things. We don’t sell weapons, and we only deal things that people need. We do drug runs to Canada and bring back prescriptions people can’t afford to get here. Yeah, maybe we deal a little Mary Jane to cancer patients and everyday folks who want a relaxer at the end of a twelve-hour shift, but that’s going to be legal sooner than it’s not. And honestly, I don’t know what job prospects you think there are for a guy who had an adult rap sheet before he was sixteen, but until they start giving food away for free, people still need to eat.”
“Yeah,” she said, quiet and slow. “That speech was out of line. I know better. I’m sorry.”
That blew him away. He’d expected the argument to escalate until he tossed her out the door, and then went on to the next step of his shaky plan alone. Having her acknowledge that she was being horrible was… different.
“What do we do next?” she asked. “Since neither of us found anything, other than that something’s wrong.”
“You still think we should go to the police?”
“You don’t,” she said. “And she’s your daughter. I’m following your lead.”
###
Emma
Dean stared at her, his jaw practically on his chest. It was a goofy look on him, and she liked it. She liked how he lost his edges when he was surprised and shocked. It was fantastic.
“How did you—” he sputtered.
“Know?” She tried not to laugh. “You’ve stumbled over your relationship with her twice, and when you say her name, you say it with such reverence. Honestly, it was a guess, but clearly, it was a good one.”
“It’s not that,” he said. “I just… I don’t talk about her, ever, if I can help it. I don’t mention Abbey. But if you figured it out — if you figured it out that fast — who else knows?”
She saw the connection he was making and suddenly understood a lot more of his panic. It wasn’t just theoretical that someone was using the pair against him. It was a direct threat. Something he’d been actively working against.
“Who else does know? For sure?”
“Connell. Henry – the one you called for me. He helped me get Abbey set up when she moved back to take care of… the baby. Her sister’s baby.”
Had he ever said this story out loud before? she wondered. “Do you trust him?”
He hesitated longer than she liked, given the topic. “He’s never hurt me. He’s been a father to me. I don’t think—” he sighed, rubbing at his temples with the fingers of his left hand. “If everyone I trusted were as good as I trusted them to be, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I can’t trust him until I know for sure.”
“Okay. How do we know for sure?”
He was quiet for a moment, and then something sparked in his eyes, and a cold grin spread over his face. “We’re going to go talk to Connell. But that means you have got to change.”
Chapter Six
Emma
Emma tried to understand how exactly she’d been talked into this. Not helping Dean, that was obvious and clear. Mia needed help, and he was completely convinced that this was the right way to help her. What he’d said was too true. She had different reasons for distrusting the cops, but she knew in her heart that they wouldn’t look as hard for a little-mixed girl as they would for one of her white students. Abbey would immediately be implicated, and Dean as well, just because they weren’t white. Hell, she’d probably be putting her own neck on the chopping block. She might be white-passing, more often than not, but her background was fairly obvious when push came to shove. Even though she’d worked hard at the center, she knew what happened when people started to look too closely and get suspicious. They wouldn’t be malicious about it. But there would be questions. And long, angry looks. She didn’t want to do it. Maybe that was childish, or petty, but she didn’t want to do it. Not unless she really believed that the police could actually save Mia’s life. She just didn’t believe it. She didn’t believe that they’d try, and Dean didn’t believe they’d do it.
Helping him seemed to be the only way to help Mia.
And apparently, helping couldn’t happen in her teacher costume.
“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb,” he’d said, “and you do not want to stick out there.” He’d made some noise about finding something in Abbey’s closet, but if the woman didn’t even like strangers in her house, there was no way Emma was going to let him talk her into putting on some of the woman’s clothes. That was just mean.
They’d gotten back into the Gr
an Sport, and driven across town to her apartment. And now he was sitting on her bed — which of course she had not made because she had not anticipated having a six-foot-tall, super cute, gorgeous man in her bedroom this evening — watching her go through her closet.
“What are you looking for here? Something just more… trashy? Actual club gear? Leather and lace? I need guidelines.”
He was silent, and she turned around to find him leaning back just a little, holding a purple lace bra in his hands. Because, of course, she hadn’t cleaned her dirty laundry off the bed, either. Dammit. His gaze turned up to her, and suddenly she was smoldering in her panties, so eager and hungry. She stalked back over to him, reaching for the bra, but he pulled it out of reach, forcing her to step closer, spreading her legs to make room for his knees. The position put her tits right in his face.
He groaned and dropped the bra, lifting her breasts in her shirt as he pressed his face into the flesh. All it would take was dropping her weight into his lap, and she knew damn well he’d take it from there. She wanted so much to let go of some of this tension, but not yet. Not yet.
