Great. Even more paperwork.
After glancing over his shoulder with wide eyes, Chris turned back to me, breathing heavily. “Thanks, man.”
I nodded, not saying anything.
It was my job, my duty, to keep him alive.
He had a scrape on his temple and blood trickled down his face from the wound, but besides that, he looked okay enough. His fiancée, Molly, would still be upset. I’d promised to return him unharmed. After all, we were only going to a funeral. But still, with tensions high between us and Bitter Hill, we’d suspected something like this might happen.
So we’d come prepared. Thank God.
Tommy, another lieutenant, called out, “Everyone alive?”
“Yeah,” Brian growled, nodding at me from the brick doorway he’d taken cover at.
Frank nodded, his blond hair in his eyes. “Yeah, man.”
Me and Chris called out, too, and then we all came out of cover when Tate said, “We’re good. Everyone, reload in case they come back.”
I slowly lowered my Sig, eyeing the carnage in front of us as I pulled out my extra mag. I’d taken down three, Chris as well. Who knew who had taken down the rest? We all reloaded silently. It had been twelve Bitter Hill guys against nine Sons. Not a fair fight for them. None of us had been killed, a gift given only by the grace of God. They’d come at us when we’d been backed into a corner, a strategic move that didn’t pay off well for them. They should have known never to back a Son into a corner.
We always came out swinging.
Tate, scowling at the dead bodies in front of him, tucked his pistol into his suit jacket, his red hair immaculately styled, the gun battle not budging a strand. “Leave them for the Boys or for Bitter Hill. I’m not cleaning up their damn mess for them this time.”
We tucked our guns away, nodding and murmuring consent. I nodded at Chris, who nodded back. It was time to go.
Before we could head for his Mustang, Tate came over to Chris, clapping him on the shoulder. “Nice shot, Chris.”
Chris grinned and gestured to the corpse we’d taken down together. “Thanks, sir. I was particularly proud of that one.”
Tate snorted. “Me, too. Nice teamwork, guys.”
“We should go,” I said quickly, tipping my head toward the corpses. “Before more come.”
Tate hesitated, but nodded. “Roll out, boys.”
We got into our cars, watching for another ambush. I was halfway into the passenger seat of Chris’s Mustang when Tate called out, “Donahue?”
I froze, my hand on the roof of Chris’s car. “Yes, sir?”
“Ride with me.” He gave me a hard look. “We need to talk. Now.”
Well, shit. That couldn’t be good. Not when I was living a lie right under his nose. Most of the time, when Tate singled out a man like this, he didn’t come back. “Sure thing, sir.”
“Both of us?” Chris called out.
I appreciated the effort and all, but if I was going down, I wouldn’t be dragging him down with me. Molly would fucking kill me. “Just me,” I said, my voice hard.
“Yep, just him,” Tate said, frowning. “Ready, Donahue?”
I mussed up my hair, grinning like I didn’t have a care in the world. “Yes, sir. Whatever you want.”
Chris cleared his throat as I closed the door, latching gazes with me over the roof of his car. “Everything okay?”
“I hope so,” I muttered, smoothing my suit jacket over my abs. The only way Tate could have been told about me was if someone knew, and the only other person who knew was staring at me with concern. I was pretty damn certain he hadn’t ratted me out. “It should be.”
Chris nodded once, flexing his jaw. “Be smart.”
“Always,” I murmured, walking toward my boss with long, carefree strides and shoving my hands in my trouser pockets. As I slid into his town car, which was being driven by Tommy, I plastered an easy grin on my face, playing the part of Lucas’s charming younger brother I’d been cast into years ago. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Tate closed the door behind us, tapping on the window that separated Tommy from us. The car pulled forward immediately. “You look young enough to be in college. How old are you?”
I blinked. “Sir?”
“Your age.” He cocked a reddish brown brow at me. “What is it?”
Out of all the things I’d expected him to ask me, this was not it. “Twenty-five, sir.”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his jaw, looking me up and down. “You look half-decent in a suit.”
I swallowed, having no clue where the hell he was going with this, but pretty damn certain I wouldn’t like it. “Thanks . . . ?”
“How are your acting abilities?” he asked distractedly, staring out the window as we drove. “At playing a part that no one would expect you to play?”
Well, if that wasn’t a trick question, considering my secret life, I didn’t know what was. If I said yes, he’d wonder if I was playing a part right now—and I was. If I said no, I wouldn’t be as valuable to the gang, and I’d lose any headway I’d gained over the years. So I chose silence instead. “What do you need from me, sir?”
“I’m getting there. What I tell you can’t leave this car. If it does, I’ll know it was you, and I’ll act accordingly for the breach of trust.” He squared his jaw, finally turning back to me. He looked seconds from pulling out a gun. “Understood?”
I nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat. “I have a sister.”
I blinked at him, taken aback. I’d done my research on Tate long before I officially became a Son. Before I was formally a DEA agent, too. I never entered anything blindly. That was a fucking death sentence. And yet I’d never found even a damn hint about Tate having a sister. “You do?”
“Yeah. She’s twenty-three and in grad school.” He leaned back in the seat, staring straight ahead at the tinted window. “She’s not like us. She’s good. Does charity work all the time and has no clue what kind of life I lead.”
So the apple fell far from the tree? I found that hard to believe. More likely than not, she put on a good front. “I see. And you’re telling me this because . . . ?”
“She thinks I’m the CEO of an investment firm—which I am, on all fronts—but that’s all she knows. She doesn’t know about my ties to the Sons of Steel Row, and thinks I’m like any white-collar thirtysomething. So she wants me to do a bachelor’s auction for a Valentine’s Day date for charity, to play nice with some spoiled, rich socialite who would probably want more than dinner and a bottle of champagne from me.” He turned to me, looking about as happy as he would if he’d been shot in the ass. “But I don’t play nice with women. Not like you do.”
I stiffened, knowing where this was going now. And I’d been right—I wasn’t going to fucking like it. I’d rather be strapped to an electric chair and pumped with a thousand volts than do what he was about to ask me to do. And the worst part? I wouldn’t have a choice. “Sir?”
“Since I now have to deal with the mess of this shoot-out, you are going to go in my place. Tell her you’re a grad student, like her, and interning at my office. I’m regrettably held up at the office with work, which I am now with this shooting, so I sent you in my place. I promised her I wouldn’t leave her a man short for tonight, since she had a hard time finding men who would volunteer. That’s where you come in.” He gestured to me. “You’re already in a suit and everything. You didn’t get shot, right?”
“Not this time, sir.” I half laughed, half groaned. “But wouldn’t I be more valuable in the office with you, plotting our next move?”
He stared at me, his blue eyes cold. “No. I want you with her.”
“Yes, sir,” I said through my clenched teeth. “Anything you need, I’m your man.”
“Good.” Tate smoothed his tie over his ch
est. “When you’re done paying your respects to Gus, you can go. The auction starts at six at the Lower Boston Country Club.”
I stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Dead.” He shrugged. “We’re members there. The best way to blend into society is to pretend to be one of them, right? I also have a condo nearby, in the gated complex on the golf course.”
We all knew about that apartment. Tate said it was a front, that he used it to launder money away from the watchful eye of the feds. All the guys joked it was his bachelor pad, where he took chicks he scored for a night of fun before ditching them to return to his place in Steel Row. But now I couldn’t help but wonder if it was more. Maybe his sister also lived in that community, and every time we assumed he was banging some chick in his fancy place, he was, in all reality, going to see her. “Wow. I never pegged you as the country-club type, sir.”
“It’s just for Skylar. I never go,” he said, even though I knew for a fact that he played golf there every Saturday at eight a.m.
“Right.” I grinned. “Of course not.”
“Like I said. No one knows she exists. I’m telling you because I think I can trust you to keep my secret.” He gave me a hard look, and I knew if I showed the slightest sign of proving him wrong, I’d be done for. No big shocker there. “You’re good at that, aren’t you? At keeping secrets?”
I forced a laugh. “Uh . . . yeah. I can be, when the situation warrants it.”
“I figured,” Tate said dryly. “This one does.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Wear that suit and be charming. Call yourself Scotty instead of Scott. It sounds more innocent and college student–like. Remember: You intern at my company and go to grad school at Boston . . . University,” he said slowly, eyeing my outfit. “No leather coat.”
“Not Boston College?”
“No.” He shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. “She goes there, so it will invite too many questions.”
“Okay.” I lifted a shoulder. “What’s my major?”
“Marketing.”
Nodding, I tapped my fingers on my thigh. “Got it, sir.”
The car stopped at the funeral home, and I reached for the handle. As I grasped it, he grabbed my arm hard, stopping me. “And, Donahue?”
“Yeah?” I asked hesitantly.
“This goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, just to be perfectly fucking clear on the matter. Touch Skylar”—he dug his fingers into my biceps—“and I’ll fucking cut you into pieces and feed you to my saltwater fish for dinner. Understood?”
Touch Tate Daniels’s sister?
I’d sooner eat uncooked liver.
“Completely.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jen McLaughlin is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of numerous books including the Out of Line Novels and Dare to Run, the debut novel in the Sons of Steel Row series. She has also written under the name Diane Alberts. Visit her online at jenmclaughlin.com.
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