Shaking my head at my thoughts, I headed into the living room. “Let’s see, Buttons. What will we do tonight? I could grade some papers. Plan some lessons. Create some classroom decorations. Watch some zombies kill people . . .”
No, I wasn’t ready for that yet.
Too much blood.
Sighing, I settled into the corner of the couch, right in front of where I’d cowered last night. Buttons hopped up on the cushion beside me, eyeing the spot where Chris usually sat. Ignoring the pang that sent through my chest, I searched for the remote, since it was nowhere to be seen.
Reaching into the couch cushions, I frowned when I felt a piece of paper. Pulling it out, I unfolded it slowly—and forgot to breathe.
Staring up at me was . . . well, me.
There was no mistaking it. The eyes, the nose, the lips, even the hair. It was a picture-perfect representation of me. He’d even managed to portray the way my eyes slanted up when I smiled. Dad had always told me I was like a cat when I grinned—mischievous, with slightly upturned eyes.
He’d captured that.
And so much more.
Running my trembling fingers across it, I stared down at the paper, the tears I’d been holding back all day filling my eyes and threatening to spill over. He’d said he wasn’t any good. That what he drew was garbage. He’d lied.
This was art.
Standing up, I walked over to the hutch. Opening the drawer on the left, I pulled out another drawing. It was a landscape, and it had trees and a lake. I’d always wondered where this place was. I wanted to see it. That’s how pretty it looked on paper. The sun shone down on the small body of water, reflecting the tranquility of the moment, and it had always stolen my breath away.
I stared at the two different drawings, trying to find a similarity between them, but, of course, failed. Chris had drawn the portrait, while the landscape had been left on my porch by my secret admirer. Years ago, I’d wondered if the hardened criminal who helped out around my house could be the same man who gave me presents.
Then I’d laughed, because there was no way.
Chris had seemed more likely to shoot a kitten than to give me one so I wouldn’t be “lonely at night anymore.” But now that I knew him better, I couldn’t help but wonder . . .
Someone knocked on the door.
I jumped, dropping the landscape. It fluttered to the floor slowly, before sliding under the table. I set the drawing of me down carefully and walked over to the door, my heart racing, because maybe it was Chris. Maybe he’d come back to me.
Of course, maybe it was more of those men, the ones Chris had gotten rid of, coming back to finish the job. And once they found out Chris wasn’t here . . .
What would they do to me?
I peeked out the curtain carefully, checking to see if it looked like it was someone here to kill me. A bored-looking, skinny, tall, pimply-faced teenager stood there, holding a bouquet of flowers. He checked his phone, rolled his eyes, and knocked again.
Looked pretty harmless.
Then again, appearances could be deceiving.
Hesitantly, I let the curtains drift back into place and unlocked the door, opening it just enough to peek out and say, “Can I help you?”
He tucked his phone away, gave me an appreciative once-over and a full smile. The kid still had braces, and he was already looking at me as if he wanted to see me naked. He would be trouble as an adult. “I have a delivery for a Ms. Lachlan.”
“That’s me.”
He held the flowers out. “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady. I’d like to say they’re from me, but I’m just the messenger.”
“Thank you.” I took them and frowned. “Stop it. You’re too young to be flirting with me.”
“I doubt that. Sign here, my lady.”
I rolled my eyes, signed, and grabbed my purse, pulling out a five. Holding it out, I gave him my best stern-teacher look and said, “Go home and play some Xbox.”
Then I shut the door in his face.
After I locked it, I leaned back on it and searched for a card. There it was. Tiny and in a pink envelope. Setting the flowers down, I tore the envelope open and let it fall to the floor. The small card had familiar handwriting on it. Writing I’d seen over the past few years, from my secret admirer. Writing I’d recognize anywhere.
But then the sun rose, and I knew there was beauty in this world.
I’m sorry, Princess.
Chris
Staring at the writing and the words, I ran back into the living room, pulse racing, and opened that drawer again. I pulled out the most recent gift I’d gotten—a small cat figurine—and the most recent line of poetry I’d received before today.
Putting the two together, I read them.
I was surrounded by darkness and gloom, sure there was nothing good left.
But then the sun rose, and I knew there was beauty in this world.
It was him. All along, my secret admirer had been Chris. The flowers. The poems. The books. The words of love. Everything. All of it. Even Buttons. They’d been from him. Chris. “Oh my God.”
Buttons groomed himself on the couch but lifted his head at my words.
I smiled at him. “It’s him. Chris.”
Buttons meowed.
A man who could go through so much thought to give me something so beautiful for so many years was worth the risk. Was worth letting him in. And even if he hurt me? I didn’t care. I wanted him here, with me, and I refused to let him face his demons alone because he didn’t want to put me at risk or because I was too scared to let him in.
I could handle it. I was done being scared. Screw that. He was safer here. With me. And I was going to tell him that, as soon as I managed to find him. I knew exactly where I needed to go to do that . . . Steel Row. The place I normally avoided at all costs.
Where my dad had died.
I hadn’t been back since.
Dad had always been looking to help out his fellow man. To save lives. It was my turn now. I needed to save Chris. And if I had to go into hell to do it? So be it.
I’d go.
Setting down the poem, I patted Buttons on the head as I passed and grabbed my keys. “I’m going to bring him home.”
Rushing to the garage, I jumped in my car and started the ignition. The ride to Steel Row passed way too quickly, probably because I gripped the wheel so tightly my knuckles hurt and because all I could think about was my dad and what had happened to him. To me.
All around me, dilapidated houses, run-down bars, and vacant shop fronts framed the streets. A small group of kids shared a skateboard, egging one another on, while hard-eyed men watched me from the street corners, assessing my threat potential. There were bars on nearly all the windows, and the street signs looked dingy.
It felt like driving into another world, as the air hung heavy with an undercurrent of danger. This wasn’t a world I knew, a world I felt safe in, but real people lived here—real people with real lives, and they lived here.
People like Chris.
As I drove by the market where my father died, I gripped the wheel even tighter and stepped on the gas hard. I turned down a quiet street right outside of Steel Row, where it was all trees and no houses, thinking maybe it was a good spot for Chris to hide.
The second I cleared the corner, another car pulled up behind me with one of those red flashing lights the cops used on the dash. I pulled over and stepped on the brake.
“Crap.” I cracked the window and waited for the officer in question. He shut off the light and approached my vehicle. My pulse raced, and I hesitated, ready to pull my foot off the brake, because he wasn’t in uniform. “Officer?”
“Ms. Lachlan.” He stopped outside my window and bent down. He wore a dark hoodie and dark jeans and looked nothing like a cop. “How are you tonight?”
“Good . . .” I rested my hand on the shifter, ready to stomp on the gas, because something about the officer was familiar. I just couldn’t quite figure out what. “How did you know my name?”
“I ran your plates.”
I tightened my hold on the knob of the shifter, easing my foot off the brake ever so slightly. “Already?”
“Yes.” He rested a hand on my roof, tapping his fingers. “You were doing twenty over the speed limit.”
He was right. I had been. I pressed back down on the brake, since he’d obviously just been doing his job. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“I can’t help but think you’re lost, Molly.” He bent lower, and something about him triggered a long-forgotten memory of Chris sitting on his parents’ porch with a few buddies. They’d been drinking beer and laughing loudly. “Girls like you don’t belong here.”
“Do I know you?” I asked. “How do you know what kind of girl I am, Officer?”
“Besides the expensive car, you mean?” he asked with amusement. “In this area, your type of car is a dead giveaway, unless you’re a member of the Sons. And since you’re a chick, I happen to know for a fact you’re not.”
“O-of course not.” My heart skipped a beat at the mention of Chris’s gang from a cop, and my cheeks flushed. When it came to lying, I got an F every time. “I’m looking for a friend, and I thought he might be here. I’m not lost.”
“Who’s your friend? I might know him.”
Oh, he probably did. But not in a good way. “I doubt it,” I said simply.
“That might be true, but you’re right. I do know you, Molly.” He lowered his face to the window, but his hood stayed up. I stared at him, recollection finally hitting. “Scott Donahue, at your service.”
Scotty Donahue was Chris’s best friend’s little brother. That was why I recognized him. My jaw dropped, because Scotty wasn’t a cop. He was a member of Steel Row, and one of Chris’s friends, and just as “bad” as Chris was.
“You’re not a cop, Scotty.”
He laughed at the nickname. “No one calls me that.”
“Chris does.”
“Yeah.” The laugh died. “He who you’re looking for?”
I froze, not sure how to answer that. Yeah, he was a member of the same gang as Chris, but Chris had been hiding from . . . something. What if that something was Scotty? “What makes you think that?”
“I have my reasons,” he hedged. “You looking for him, Molly?”
“Are you?” I shot back, my hand falling back on the shifter.
“Doesn’t matter what I’m doing. You have no place in this world, Molly.” He shook his head, rested both hands on my roof, and locked eyes with me. “You have no idea what you’re jumping into here, with him, and me, and the rest of the Sons. You’re going to get yourself killed if you’re not careful. Go home.”
“I’m not trying to jump into anything at all,” I said quickly. “Like I said, I’m just looking for a friend.”
He shook his head. “Do you know why Chris is hiding in the first place? Did he tell you?”
So, he knew that much. The question was . . . how did he know? “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Who is hiding from who?”
“Molly . . .” Scotty laughed, tapping his fingers on the metal roof, and repositioned his feet. “You don’t know how to play this game you’re playing, so I suggest you stop trying. I know he was with you. Just like I know he left, and is currently in an alley, bleeding, and refusing to let me help him.”
I stiffened, my heart dropping to my stomach at the idea of Chris lying in an alley injured yet again. What kind of life did he lead? “Where is he? And why are you acting like a cop when we both know you’re not?”
He hesitated but shrugged. “It’s a clever disguise in more ways than one. I’m no stranger to molding a person’s perception of me to make my life easier.”
“You’re clearly a man used to lying. Why should I listen to you now? Maybe it’s a trap, to get me to go looking for Chris—which I’m not even doing—so I can be used against him somehow. Maybe you plan on holding me captive to get him to show up, so you can kill him. Problem is, he probably wouldn’t show. I’m nothing to him.”
Scotty laughed, deeply and richly, and grabbed my steering wheel. “Oh, Molly. If only you knew how ironic those words were.”
Dread settled into the bottom of my stomach. “Is this when you try to abduct me? I’ll fight back. I might not be used to this type of life, but I won’t go down easy.”
“No.” He sobered and locked eyes with me. “I’m not one of the bad guys. Not tonight, anyway. If you’re looking for him—and I know you are, so there’s no use denying it—he’s behind the Patriot, probably regretting the shit he’s done, as he should be, and trying not to get shot again.”
I stiffened. “What did he do?” I asked quietly.
“That’s for him to tell.” He lifted a shoulder. “Not me.”
I didn’t say anything to that. He was right, after all.
He tapped my wheel. “You should go home, though, instead of going out and searching for him. Forget all about Chris O’Brien. Take it from me: Guys like us only bring pain and death, and you’re better off without him.”
“Then why tell me where he is at all?”
“Because even though he did something unforgivable, I’ve known him all my life. There’s a good guy buried beneath the asshole, and I don’t want to find his corpse in an alley tomorrow morning. He’s been crazy about you since we were kids, but he never thought a guy like him could end up with someone like you. He trusts you. If you can help him . . . I’m not gonna stop you. You’re a big girl. You can make your own choices.” He paused, leveling a gaze on me that felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. “So tell me. Can you help him?”
I thought driving around trying to find him was helping him, but whatever. Of course I’d be there, provided I could find him. And once I did, I wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d come with me, whether he wanted to or not. “How much danger is he in?”
“More than you’d ever understand,” Scotty answered gravely.
I swallowed hard. “Where’s the Patriot?”
“You have no idea how much danger you’re putting yourself in if you go find him.” He flexed his jaw. “You have to tell me you understand that you could be hurt.”
I might be making the wrong choice in deliberately thrusting myself into a mess that had nothing to do with me, but I was going to do it anyway. He’d spent years making my life a little brighter, asking nothing in return. He might have killed a few men, and he might not be a good guy, but he was mine. And I wouldn’t let him die in some alley alone because I was too scared to go find him. “Like I said, where’s the Patriot?”
CHAPTER 15
CHRIS
It was kinda poetic that I came here, in a way. I hadn’t come here to die, but I just might. Bitter Hill had jumped me the second I entered the alley, and now I was right back where I started—bleeding in a fucking alley. If I died here, among the ruins of Lucas’s apartment, well, what the fuck ever. Not much I could do besides do my best to stay alive so I could save Scotty’s sorry life.
Then I could die with a purpose, at least.
And if that wasn’t enough for me anymore, then I needed to get over it.
Grinning, I kicked the body near my feet. Another Bitter Hill guy who’d failed to finish me. At least, if I was gonna go down, I would go down swinging. And at least I’d had a taste of heaven in Molly’s arms before going straight to hell, where I belonged.
It had been glorious.
My phone rang, and I dug it out of my pocket, grimacing at the pain it sent shafting through my ribs. Son of a fucking bitch, that hurt. I glowered at the screen and swiped my finger across it. “What the fuck do you want, Scotty?”
“Hi. Nice
to talk to you, too.” Scotty paused. “You’re still alive?”
“No. I’m talking to you from hell. Satan says hi,” I snapped. “He told me he has a hot pike reserved for your ass, so hurry up and come join us.”
Scotty snorted. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor in all this shit.”
“Why are you calling me?” I kept my gaze on the opening of the alley, ready to shoot anything that moved. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“First of all, Molly is out looking for you.”
“Son of a bitch.” I let the gun fall to my side, still clutching it, because it took too much effort to hold it up. “Where is she?”
“Heading your way. Don’t shoot her.”
I gritted my teeth, cursing a million times over in my head. I never should have sent her those damn flowers or let her know I was the guy who’d been sending her romantic and sappy shit for years. It had been a moment of weakness, when I was sure I’d never see her again, or that I might die. But it had been selfish. It had been me.
“Stop her. Arrest her. Tie her up in your truck. Ship her off to England. Shit, I don’t care what you do, as long as it gets her to forget about me and it’s nothing bad.” I struggled to my feet. “Just do it.”
“Sorry—too late. I already sent her on her way with directions to you. You need to go with her.” Scotty paused. “If you don’t, she’ll just end up getting herself killed looking for you, and we both know it.”
“Dammit, Scotty.” I closed my eyes because he had a point. If she kept driving around Steel Row, something or someone would eventually take advantage of that. “I’m going to skin you alive for telling her where I was.”
He snorted. “You’re welcome to try.”
I gritted my teeth.
“Go home with her. Sleep. Heal. And, once all signs of you getting your ass kicked repeatedly are gone, rejoin the gang and help me bring down some assholes. We’ll clean up Steel Row together. Make the neighborhood safe again. Take down gang members together. Like you said.”
Dare to Stay Page 15
