by Laura Kaye
You’re a fucking waste of space.
You’re a worthless piece of shit.
You should’ve been the one to die.
Wah wah whatthefuckever.
His bike came to life on a low rolling growl, drowning out the ancient voices and the memories. He donned a matte black helmet and tugged a mouth mask up over his face, and then he was pulling out onto the street and making his way through town, past quiet homes and closed businesses. Glowing Christmas lights hung in trees and around rooflines and in darkened windows, not that the holiday meant anything to him.
Every time he made a left turn, his shifting weight reminded him that he’d been shot through the left wrist less than three months before. The memory of that night was part of the bullshit that pinballed around his skull—not because he’d been hurt, but because three others had been, too. And it was his fucking fault.
The only saving grace was that all three had survived, but clearly he needed to step up and do better watching over the members of the closest thing to a family he’d ever had. Because next time they might not be so lucky.
Nearly an hour into riding the circuit, Caine made his way into town to the row house of the last of their protectees, Ana Garcia. She’d been receiving death threats ever since filing a sexual assault charge against the pastor at a big church on the outskirts of town. One of those places that was as much fundraising machine as it was a house of worship. Powerful and connected, where the woman was not. Which was why she’d come to the Ravens, and why they’d agreed to take her on. It was what they did—protecting those who couldn’t defend themselves, and it’d been the main thing that’d drawn Caine to the club ten years before.
He parked at the curb about a half block away from the client’s house and cut his engine, content to keep eyes on the place for a while despite the December cold. The Ravens had offered to let her stay at one of their cabins, but she didn’t want to be chased from her own house, so they’d been doing regular drive-bys and providing escorts around town, most recently during her courthouse appearance. The show of potential force was frequently enough to make the kind of cowardly shitheads who’d threaten a woman stand down, and so far that seemed to be the case for her.
On a sigh, Caine hung his helmet on the handle bar and got off the bike to walk the block. He moved like a shadow, quiet and quick, a black wraith in the night. Eyes wide open. Ears on alert. Instincts tuned to the tiniest threat. It was just how he was wired—or maybe it was how life had rewired him.
He was almost at the intersection across from their client’s house when he heard it. A woman’s shriek, abruptly cut off, quickly followed by the snarling, aggressive barks of a dog—and then a sharp yelp. Not from the direction of their protectee’s place, but closer, from around the corner of the row houses right next to him.
Instincts screaming, Caine darted to the corner of the house closest to the intersection, his hand already at the small of his back…reaching for the gun he hadn’t brought when his whole plan for the night had been the threesome. Fuck.
He peered around the corner and saw two people locked in physical struggle, a small dog barking and growling at their ankles. One person wore a mask, and the other a halo of long, blond hair.
Aw, hell no. He drew a switchblade from his boot and bolted toward them. He didn’t speak, didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate. He popped the blade open and swung, catching the mask-wearing shitbag on the arm.
The guy hollered and reared back, suddenly off balance, the woman’s purse in his hands as he went down on his ass. It was the perfect opportunity to pin him, except the woman lost her balance, too. She fell back against Caine’s chest and, as he caught her, their feet became entangled in the dog’s leash as the little thing jumped and yipped. It was all Caine could do to keep them upright.
And it allowed the attacker to recover. Her belongings spilling from the purse, he scrabbled off the ground and hauled ass up the street before disappearing down an alley.
“Sonofabitch,” Caine growled, holding the woman by the shoulders as he tried to step out of the winding cord.
“Wait, wait,” she said in a shaky voice. “Let me just unhook—”
“Be still,” Caine said, frustrated as all hell that the man had gotten away.
“But—”
Finally, he got free of the leash, free of the heat of the woman against him, free of the dog scratching at the legs of his jeans. Bending down, the woman picked up the little puff ball and dropped the leash, allowing her to step out of the tangle, too.
She pressed her face to the thing’s fur, her breath hitching. “Are you okay, baby?” The dog answered by licking her face, and then she ran her hands over its furry body. “Did he hurt you?”
Restless and agitated, Caine shifted feet. His gaze scanned the street, swung over all the shadowed places around them, took in the way the woman’s wavy, sunny-blond hair spilled down over her long dark-blue coat. He folded and pocketed the knife. “You’re the one you should be worried about.”
Her gaze cut to him, allowing him to really see her for the first time. Bright eyes the shade of the summer sky. Delicate features, almost stunningly pretty. A little gap between her two front teeth that added an endearing quality to all that pretty.
If Caine had been the type to find something endearing, which he wasn’t.
She unleashed a shaky breath. “I…I can barely believe that just happened. Or that you helped me. Thank you.”
He shook his head, not wanting the gratitude. Not when the man who’d jumped her had gotten away. “Why are you out alone at this hour anyway?”
Irritation replaced the gratitude in her gaze. “First of all, should that matter? Second, because dogs have to be walked—”
Her annoyance was easier for him to deal with. “At eleven at night?” he asked, suddenly angry that she’d seemed more concerned for her dog than her own safety.
“Wow. Okay.” She rubbed a hand against her forehead as if he’d pained her. Turning away, she put the puff ball down and crouched to retrieve her scattered belongings from the cracked sidewalk. Pens, lipsticks, a package of mints. She reached for something farther away and a little moan spilled from her throat as she suddenly curled in on herself.
“What?” he asked, warily coming up beside her. “What’s the matter?”
Hand against her forehead, she gave a little shake. “Nothing. I have a migraine. Was on my way back from the convenience store when he…he…” Another little shake, and she braced her free hand against the sidewalk. Whimpering, the puff ball tried to climb into her lap. “That’s why I was out.”
Fuck. Aren’t I the asshole?
Always.
She unleashed a little laugh, but the sound was full of despair.
Caine gave the street another one-eighty scan, then crouched.
Those bright blues cut up to him. “Except now that guy has the medicine I just bought…along with my wallet and keys.” She pressed her fingers into her forehead again. “Oh, God, what a mess.”
Unsure what to say or do, Caine just watched her expressive face. Pain and unnamed emotion flickered across it, making him wish for just one moment that he was the kind of person who knew how to make things better.
On a sigh, she stuffed her loose belongings into her coat pocket. “Oh! I still have my phone.” Her expression brightened as she pulled the device from her coat and stared at it like she’d won a prize. “I should call the police.”
“They won’t be able to help,” he said.
She frowned and her shoulders fell. “You don’t know that. And shouldn’t I at least report it?”
Caine mentally kicked himself for dousing the little bit of happiness she’d latched onto in finding her phone, but he’d never been one for hiding from the truth. That only resulted in the truth finding you first. “Did you get a look at his face?”
Her gaze narrowed on him. “No, he wore a mask. You saw him, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “And did anything el
se about his appearance strike you as noteworthy? Something the cops could use to identify him?”
“Oh.” Her frown deepened, and then her eyes went wide. “You cut his arm.”
“Not deep enough that he’ll seek treatment,” he said. At least, that’s what Caine would’ve put his money on. Still, he had to give her credit for thinking of that detail.
“So then…I’m just out of luck.” She stroked her hand over the brown, gray, and white little dog which now lay in a ball at her hip. “At least I still have you,” she whispered as the puff ball raised its silly head. She looked so small sitting there, curled in on herself, head in her hand, but still able to find joy in the animal…
Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced. Of Grace, a few nights before the fire… Already at ten, Caine hadn’t slept soundly, his body having of necessity developed a state of constant alertness he still possessed. So he’d often gotten up to check on his friends. Henry, who he shared a room with; Shawn, who was in the other boys’ room; and little Grace, who’d taken to following Caine around from almost the first day she’d arrived, no matter how often he’d told her not to.
Grace hadn’t been in her bed, and Caine had found her hiding in the closet of the girls’ bedroom with a mangy white cat.
“Grace, you can’t have that in here. You know if they find you—” His gut fell as he took in the bowl of milk. If they realized someone had helped themselves…
“I know,” she said, six-year-old blue eyes peering up at him. “But he was on the fire escape, and he needs me. Isn’t he cute?”
Caine sighed. “Stay off that fire escape. You know it’s broken.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I wasn’t on it. I just opened the window.”
Most of the other kids were too scared of Caine to talk to him at all, let alone to back-talk to him. Yet the littlest one of them all loved to give him a hard time. Resisting a smile, Caine had knelt down in the open doorway. “He is cute. But, Grace, you gotta look out for yourself first.”
Petting the cat’s rounded back, Grace shook her head. “That’s not what you do, Caine. You always look out for me. Will you help me hide him?”
“Mister?”
The memory was like a punch to the gut. Caine sucked in a breath as the woman’s voice pulled him out of it. “What?” he asked, rushing to his feet when he realized the blonde was standing over him, her little dog tucked against her chest.
Her gaze was wary. “I asked if you were okay.”
A single shake, because his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest. Where the fuck had that memory come from? He hadn’t thought of that night for years. “Yeah,” he said, “but you’re not.”
And not just because of the migraine and the mugging, like those weren’t enough. But the asshole had gotten away with her driver’s license and her keys, a combination that had every one of Caine’s internal alarms blaring.
She gave a little shrug. “It’s over now,” she said, taking a step away. “So thank you again. I’m gonna head home and call a locksmith.”
He watched her, his instincts torn between helping and keeping out of something that wasn’t his business.
Will you help me…?
Goddamnit, between the echo of Grace’s long-ago plea still ringing in his ears and the fact that he’d let this woman’s mugger get away, her plight now kinda was his fucking business, wasn’t it? Whether he wanted it to be or not.
“So…okay, bye,” she said, turning away altogether.
“Wait,” Caine said, foreign words on the tip of his tongue. And then they were spilling free. “I can help you. With the locks. That is, if you want.”
Chapter 2
Emma Kerry froze in her tracks, then turned to face the man who’d protected her. “How can you help with my locks?” she asked, her pulse pounding against the front of her skull. Given how this man had just helped her, part of her felt ashamed for feeling any wariness, but there was something about him that sent a chill down her spine.
He nailed her with a stare, his eyes startlingly pale blue, something that stood out when everything else about him was so dark. Black knit cap, black hoodie, black jeans, small black gauges in his ears, denim-and-black-leather cut-off jacket from that motorcycle club she sometimes saw around town. Patches on that jacket read:
Caine
Sgt. At Arms
Was Caine his first or last name? Or a nickname? She didn’t know. But what she did know was that he was tall and possessed an edgy intensity that made her feel anxious. Or maybe that was just her projecting how on edge she felt after getting jumped.
“I know how to pick them,” he said. “So I can let you into your house.”
Hugging Chewy in tighter against her chest, Emma took an unconscious step backward. “Oh, uh, right.” She gave a nervous laugh that sounded close to hysterical in her own ears. “Well, thanks, but I’ll call a professional.”
He shrugged. “Saturday night. They’re gonna take hours.”
Emma’s instincts didn’t know how to read this guy, because he made her feel both vulnerable and safe, like he was some kind of magnet that messed up her internal compass. It was probably this damn headache. “It’s okay.”
His brow slashed downward and he took a step closer. “Why won’t you let me help?”
Her heart threatened to take flight, and she fell back another step as words rushed from her mouth. “Um. Because I don’t know you. And you have a knife. And I just got mugged and now you’re talking about breaking into my house?”
The man froze and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Whoa. If I was going to hurt you, I could’ve done it by now.”
Emma gasped, the truth of those words needling in even though... “That is not at all reassuring.”
He winced, and it made him momentarily appear a little vulnerable himself. “I suck at reassuring.”
“No kidding.” Her stomach went on a loop-the-loop, because something about this man made her feel like she was standing on shaky ground.
Hands still raised, he took another step back. “I didn’t mean to make it worse.”
She shook her head, and the gesture made her feel a little nauseous. “You didn’t. But I’m okay now. So, thank you.” With that, she turned and rushed away. She would’ve sworn he watched her until she disappeared around the corner, and then she moved even faster just in case he followed. Thank God her place was only six houses down.
Except, of course, that she couldn’t get in. Still, the golden glow of her front porch light and the colored lights on her Christmas tree that twinkled from her front window restored some of her sense of security. “Here you go, baby,” she said, sitting on her stoop and settling her Shih Tzu in her lap. “I’m gonna get us in.”
Her phone was her one saving grace of the whole night, and she used it to look up emergency lock-out services…only to find that the Caine guy was right. They gave her an estimate of ninety minutes. Which would put them here after midnight. Awesome.
Emma dropped her head into her hand. “If I throw up, I promise not to do it on you, Chewy.”
The little guy spun in her lap, seemingly knowing she needed his comfort judging by how he nuzzled her face. She laughed at his antics despite herself.
She tugged the collar of her coat up around her neck and pulled her free hand inside her sleeves. With the other, she opened her e-reader app on her phone and found a new book to start. There was nothing to be done but wait. And the light of the app made her feel less alone.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the rev of a motorcycle engine tore into the quiet somewhere down the block, and both she and Chewy startled. The dog growled and ruffed out little half barks that expressed concern but not outright alarm. But then the motorcycle came toward them and its rumbling engine echoed louder off the buildings, sending Chewy into full-on protective mode.
Especially when the bike pulled to the empty curb in front of the house next to hers.
Caine. His boots
braced against the ground as the sleek all-black Harley came to a stop.
Emma stared. Once again, her brain seemed to be caught in an internal war between fear and fascination, panic and relief. Definitely relief, if she wanted to be honest with herself.
The engine went dead, and silence rang loud in its wake.
“How long?” he called out.
She hesitated only a moment before realizing what he meant. “Til the locksmith?” Her phone said fifteen minutes had passed since she’d called. “About seventy-five minutes.”
“Okay.” Parked at the edge of the illumination cast by her lights, Emma could just make out Caine’s movements. He crossed his arms and his head fell forward.
“Um, Caine?” she said, testing out that name.
“Yeah?”
She leaned forward to try to see him better. “What are you doing?”
A sigh that sounded like pure frustration. “Waiting.”
“For?”
“You to be safe.”
Those four words. Those four words added a serious dose of fascination to the relief his presence brought. Because why would he go to this trouble for her when he’d already helped her and she’d kinda brushed him off? Who did that?
But if she’d been blown away by his presence and his determination to watch out for her and those words, it was nothing compared to what happened next. About ten minutes later, Emma became aware of the distant sound of another motorcycle, but didn’t think about it until it got closer—and then turned onto her street.
Somehow she knew it was going to stop near Caine, and then it did just that.
Emma felt like she was watching a movie and had absolutely no idea what was going to happen next. New biker guy handed Caine something, looked her way, and seemed to hold a conversation she couldn’t quite hear over his motor. Then, as quickly as he came, he left again. Until the street was once more quiet and his engine noise became a distant whine.
