Dare to Stay

by Jen McLaughlin

“No. That life is too dangerous for me to handle.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I lost a person I loved once. It hurt. A lot. If I’m going to take that chance on someone again, if I’m going to open myself up to that pain, then it’s going to have to be for someone pretty freaking special. I have yet to meet him. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. It made sense. She’d been hurt before and didn’t want to be hurt again. I got that. “But that shouldn’t make you scared to open yourself up again. The chances of you losing another person that way—they’re pretty damn slim. You don’t exactly live in Steel Row. Just stay out of there, and keep your man out of there, and you’ll be good to go.”

  She blew out a breath, moving her hair. “Like I said, if I meet someone worth taking a risk on, I’ll deliberate on it at that time. But to plan, and worry, and dream about who he might be? What’s the point of that?”

  I stared at her, my hand on Buttons’ back. “That’s an awfully bleak outlook on life for you.”

  “No one can be all sunshiny happy all the time, can they?”

  “I always just assumed you were,” I answered honestly.

  “Well, you assumed wrong.” She reached out and patted Buttons on the head. Our hands were so close, yet we didn’t touch. It felt like we had. “Ugh. I hate her.”

  I tore my eyes off Molly and looked back at the screen. A redheaded woman talked animatedly, her hands flying with every word. She looked like she had more silicone than real body parts, and like she was about as deep as a puddle. The guy sat beside her, watching her, but he seemed less than impressed. “Don’t worry. He’s not into her.”

  She blinked at me. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Look at him.” I pointed at the TV. “When he looks at her, there’s nothing in his eyes. No desire. No warmth. No heat. It’s just a dead stare. And he’s leaning away from her, as if he can’t wait to walk away.” I dropped my hand back to Buttons. “He’s got more interest in that couch than he does in her.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Wow. You’re good.”

  “It’s my job to be good. To read people.” I shifted uneasily. I failed to mention that I then used the way people reacted against them. That I found their weaknesses and exploited them. Like I had with Lucas. I set Buttons down and stood up. “Want some wine?”

  “Sure,” she said quickly.

  I walked out to the kitchen, needing some space. Sitting on that couch with her, watching some bullshit reality show, had felt way too domestic. Like what we had was real—when it wasn’t. I wasn’t sticking around, and she wouldn’t miss me when I left. I was just some charity case she’d brought into her home in some misguided attempt to be more like her father. Her father had been a good man who helped lots of people—

  And look what it had gotten him. An unceremonious death in Steel Row. She was better off keeping to herself, like she’d been doing all along.

  After I got us some Red Moscato, I walked back into the living room. The bachelor dude now sat at a romantic dinner with a brunette. She was pretty enough, but something about her was off. As if she was in this only for the fame.

  “Dude. This guy gets around.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Yeah.”

  “Who the hell needs to be on a show for an excuse to fuck around?” I handed her a glass and settled back down, crossing an ankle over my thigh. “If you want to play the field, do it without the cameras in your face.”

  “That’s not the point,” she argued. “The point is to fall in love and get married.”

  “Yeah. And I’m the pope.”

  She choked on her wine. I grinned. “Sure you are.”

  “Seriously, though, how many of these guys actually get married?”

  She set her wine down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Uh . . .”

  “Exactly. They’re looking to get fucked, not married.” I lifted my glass to the screen. “And they’re totally sleeping together.”

  “What?” She glanced at the screen in horror. “No.”

  I laughed at her horrified expression. I couldn’t help it. She acted as if I’d told her he drowned puppies in his spare time. “Yep.”

  She sank back against the pillow, pouting. “Well, crap.”

  “Sorry,” I said, still chuckling.

  “Whatever.” The show went to commercial, and she reached for her wine again. “So, you never want to settle down. Have some kids.”

  I winced. Why the hell would I want to hand my kid the same type of life I led? Like me, he wouldn’t have much of a choice when it came to what he did with his life. If you were born into this life, you accepted it. You embraced it. I refused to do that to my kid. Refused to bring another little Son into this life. “Hell no.”

  “I see.” She shifted her weight. Buttons came back on my lap. “What about you? Would you change your mind about being single if you met a girl who changed everything?”

  “No.”

  “How can you be so sure?” She stared at me. “So certain?”

  I’d already met that girl, and she sat beside me. But considering my current course of action, and how my plan would more than likely play out, I wouldn’t be around long enough for her to make me think I deserved her in my life. “Because I am.”

  CHAPTER 8

  MOLLY

  I swallowed a big gulp of wine, not meeting his eyes. Knowing he wasn’t even remotely open to the possibility of a relationship wasn’t shocking or even surprising. With the life he led, it made perfect sense. But for some reason . . .

  It made me sad.

  Yeah, I wasn’t exactly receptive to the idea of love and marriage myself, but I was at least open to the possibility . . . in theory. But he refused to even think about it and had dedicated himself to a life of solitude. “How does that make you feel?”

  He stared at me as if I’d asked him if he liked to suck his own toes, or something equally insulting. “It doesn’t make me feel anything.”

  My lips twitched at the way he said that, all deep and manly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you might not be a robot inside.”

  “Well, don’t make that mistake again.” He dragged a hand through his hair. Buttons meowed, and Chris immediately went back to rubbing the cat’s head. Those two had bonded something fierce over the past two days. “Did you say something about a spring break over dinner?”

  Effective change of topic. “Yeah. It starts Wednesday.”

  “All right.” He pointed at the TV. It was a commercial for a show that took place in Scotland. “That’s beautiful. I’d love to go there and draw the landscapes.”

  Wait. He drew? “You—?” Before I could actually ask him about his hobby, he cut me off.

  “Now, that?” He frowned at the TV. An ad was playing for Dior cologne. “That shit smells awful. A buddy of mine pours it on like it’s bathwater, and it’s so strong I smell it for hours after I get home. I swear my body absorbs it and releases it little by little just to fuck with me.”

  A laugh bubbled out of me. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “I don’t,” he said dismissively. “How long will you be off?”

  I blinked at the quick change back to our original topic. “A week and a half.”

  “Damn.” He whistled through his teeth. “All that for Easter?”

  “Spring break.” I lifted the wineglass to my lips. “We don’t call it Easter break anymore.”

  “Right. I forgot—” He broke off and picked up the remote.

  His frown deepened, so I turned back to the TV to see what had him all worked up this time. A news segment was playing. He turned it up.

  “Today in South Boston, in what was believed to be a gang-related shoot-out that broke out on Wescott and Bitter Hill Road, three men and a child were gunned down.”

  Chris sat forward, Butto
ns forgotten on his lap. “Shit.”

  “Authorities believe it was a territory dispute between two rival gangs, and the child was not the intended target. Three have been taken into custody and are expected to be charged with murder in the first degree.”

  “Son of a bitch.” He dragged a hand through his hair again and turned down the volume. “That was Bitter Hill and Old Forge. Guaranteed.”

  “Are you . . . friends with them?”

  “Hell no.” His forehead wrinkled, and he gripped the glass tighter. “But I sold them the guns. I gave them the weapons to gun down children on corners.”

  I swallowed hard. Sometimes, I forgot what he did. Who he was. But then he said things like this, and I remembered all too well what it was he did for a living. “Why do you do it?”

  “Because it’s my life. That’s why. That’s what I always told myself, anyway. That’s what I said.” He picked Buttons up and set him on the couch gently, despite the irritation in his voice. “And it’s time I got back to that life.”

  “N-now?”

  “Soon.” He set his glass down. “I just need to contact a few people, set some things in motion, and then I’m back out there.”

  “But—”

  “It’s time to make good. I’ve done a lot of shit in my life, and so has everyone in the gang,” he said, covering his face. “I get it now. I understand why Scotty does what he does.”

  I blinked. “What does Scotty do?”

  “He cleans up shit. I thought he was doing wrong, that he was betraying us, but I was wrong. We’re the ones doing wrong. He’s just trying to set it right.” He lowered his hands. The pain and determination I saw in his eyes sent an answering ping of fear through my chest. “And I’m going to help him. I’m going back in. I’m staying.”

  Though I wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about with Scotty and all that, I understood that last part. I lifted my leg, resting my heel on the couch, and hugged my knee to my chest. “You’re ready?”

  “Yeah.” His jaw flexed. “I’m ready. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  He walked off without another word, heading up the stairs. I listened to his footsteps, waiting to hear the bedroom door shut. Once it did, I let out a sigh. Having him around, acting like a normal guy, had been tough tonight. In a way, I was grateful for that news segment. For that hard, cold reality of what he was.

  It made it easier to keep him at arm’s length, despite my attraction to him, when the evidence of his crimes was staring me in the face. It reminded me that he wasn’t the guy for me. How could I be with someone who killed people for a living? Who gave criminals the weapons to cause harm to the city I loved? How could I want him?

  And yet . . . I did.

  I really did.

  CHAPTER 9

  CHRIS

  “Son of a fucking whoreson bitch,” I growled.

  It was the next day, after that odd night on her couch when I’d watched some corny-ass dating show, and I was still here, lying under Molly’s dining room table with sweat pouring down my face. Buttons meowed over my head, batting at my hair, and I flinched at the claws scraping my scalp.

  I shook the hand I’d just poked with a screwdriver, glowering at it, and ignored the cat. The table had been wobbling ever since I got here, but it wasn’t until today that I felt strong enough to tackle the job. Under Molly’s watchful care, my shoulder had gotten better each day, and it was now more of a dull ache than a screaming pain.

  Every night, she checked it, cleaned it, and bandaged it up. Even last night, after I’d locked myself away behind her father’s door, she’d knocked and asked if she could come in to look at my shoulder. I, of course, had let her in. I didn’t know what to do with her. In all my life, I’d never had someone who cared so much about my well-being.

  Yeah, I had Lucas, but we’d been dudes. We didn’t call each other and ask how each other’s boo-boos were feeling. We got together. We drank shit. We shot assholes.

  And then we went home. Alone.

  The past two mornings, she’d woken up at six on the dot. I’d made sure to be up by quarter of six, and to have a hot mug of coffee waiting for her. Then she’d left for work, and I’d tried my hand at fixing shit around the house. When she’d come home at six, I had dinner and a glass of wine waiting for her. I tried to take care of her, and she did the same for me. It felt right. And playing house had taught me something about myself, too.

  I could have been different.

  My life didn’t need to be all murder, guns, and meaningless sex. It could’ve been more—if I’d been born into another family. Another life. But I hadn’t been.

  The longer I stayed with her, the higher the chances got that I just might dirty that pure heart of hers. And yet, I hadn’t left, because I was still coming up with a game plan—and putting all my pawns in place on the chessboard. I knew what I had to do now, and I was prepared to do anything to succeed, but I had to be careful.

  I played a dangerous game.

  One wrong move, and bam. I’d be off the board too soon.

  Tate Daniels, the head of Steel Row, had been texting me all day long, telling me we were almost ready to take action against Bitter Hill and that he’d let me know when he was ready for me to return. I played my part well, slurring my voice as I told him I was out drinking and fucking Lucas’s death out of my mind.

  Scotty had called me a few times, too, wanting to talk. I didn’t answer—I wasn’t ready to. He probably wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to blow his story or tell anyone Lucas was really alive. I wouldn’t. Not that he’d believe me, but it was true.

  After this short time of normalcy with Molly, I was finally starting to understand the way Lucas had been with Heidi. Why he’d been willing to give up everything, all that power, for a girl. For a shot at a regular life. One that didn’t require you to sleep with a gun in your hand, one where your job description didn’t include shooting assholes in the head—before you were shot first.

  For the first time since being a kid, I wanted a different life than the one I had. I wanted to pretend that I wasn’t a killer and that I wasn’t unredeemable.

  I wanted to believe I could be a good guy.

  Back when I was still in school, I’d expressed an interest in becoming a doctor to Pops, instead of joining the gang. My grades were good enough to open up a lot of choices to me, and even back then, I’d been the go-to guy for when someone in the gang needed stitching up. I still was.

  When I had told Pops of my dream, he laughed in my face and beat the shit outta me. Afterward, he sneered and told me to go fix myself up, if I was such a damn good doctor. Ma had watched as he beat me, her arms crossed as blood poured down my face. That had been the first, and last, time I’d mentioned my dreams.

  But I did have hope once.

  Dreams about a future that would save lives rather than take them. And it had been glorious. Freeing. I’d forgotten about that, and the way it made me feel, until now.

  Here.

  With Molly.

  And that’s why now, more than ever, I wouldn’t betray Lucas. He’d found a way to get that, to escape this life by running, and there was no way I would ruin that for him. And I wouldn’t rat out his little brother, either. Lucas loved Scotty, and now that Luc was gone, it was up to me to make sure Scotty didn’t get himself killed playing the hero cop.

  I couldn’t take back what I’d done to Lucas. Couldn’t show him how sorry I was. But I could keep his brother alive and make sure that Tate never suspected that Scotty was a Boy, or I could die trying. That was my job. That was my penance.

  And I’d see it done.

  I glared up at my palm, at the old scar Lucas and I had made when we became blood brothers. I’d broken that vow. I wouldn’t break this one. Not this time. Scotty was safe, and Lucas was, too, and I’d keep playing my part till I couldn’t play it a
nymore. It would be up to me to show Scotty I was a changed man, and that he could count on me to have his back. That I was willing and ready to do what it took to keep him alive and to help him clean up Steel Row, one body at a time.

  In my opinion, it was a lost cause. You couldn’t wash away bloodstains on white shirts, and that’s what Steel Row was. It was a permanent, fucked-up stain in Boston’s Southie section. But if Scotty believed he could do it, I would believe in it, too. I would be his man. His eyes. His ears. His voice. And if it got me killed?

  At least I’d go down doing something good, for once in my life.

  That had to count for something.

  Shaking my sore hand off, I set down the screwdriver, picked up a wrench, and torqued the bolt tight, grinning when it finally slipped into place. “Fuck yeah.”

  My phone buzzed beside my head, and I glanced over at it. It was from an old buddy from Bitter Hill who often gave me intel. If he was calling me, the news wouldn’t be good. Setting the tools down, I picked up my iPhone and swiped my finger across the screen. “Yeah?”

  Not wasting time, he said, “Reggie’s pissed about what happened to his guys, and he’s gonna make a point that his men aren’t disposable.”

  “What’s he planning?” I asked quickly. More than likely, it would be a direct attack on me, and if that was the case, there was no way in hell I would be hanging around here anymore. I wouldn’t put Molly in more danger than I already had.

  He sighed. “They’re going after Tommy, Scotty, and a few other lieutenants. And, of course, you. But they can’t figure out where you’re hiding. Wherever you are, I suggest you stay there.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Thanks for the heads-up, man.”

  “Anytime.”

  I dropped my phone on my chest and rubbed my forehead. Well, shit. Now I had to decide how best to handle this intel and who to give it to. Normally, I would go directly to Tate with it. But now that I owed Scotty, he should be my go-to guy. He had resources I didn’t, and bosses to answer to, and lies to maintain.