by Evelyn Glass
She blinked hard when they walked her into the light. This didn’t look like the same dirt yard where the man in the car had left her behind, but she wasn’t sure she’d recognize it anyway. She looked around and saw a group of men facing off, around one big brute with a tire iron, holding it over a man on the ground. It took her a moment to recognize him, and then his name burst from her mouth before she could control herself. “Dean!”
Both Dean’s head and the head of the man over him — Chains — snapped in her direction. She tried to kick at the man holding her, but he easily widened his stance, so her foot went straight through his thighs instead of connecting. Well, that was fine. She threw her entire weight into him, twisting so that she hit him in the bread basket. He made a woomf sort of sound as he fell, the air knocked out of him. She ran, darting through people who had not expected to see her fight, and placed herself directly between Dean and Chains, her arms spread wide. She had never felt so exposed in her life, but she stared up at Chains.
“Leave him alone,” she said, fully aware of how her voice was shaking.
“What’ll you give me, little girl?” Chains asked, a smirk on his face and in his voice. “I already told you. This man killed one of my best friends. A boy I was supposed to protect.”
“I know,” Emma said. “You told me. And I told you that he didn’t do it. I’m pretty sure that the guy who did do it was the shithead who dropped me off here. But you said you didn’t want to hurt me. You just wanted to send a message.” He hadn’t said any of those things, but hey, it might work. It seemed like at least a sensible shot in the dark. “Come on, Chains. Come on. Hasn’t enough blood been spilled today?” Shit, she sounded so goddamn corny, but he was adjusting his grip on the tire iron, and his eyes were shifting in a way that reminded her of a really big preschooler who was realizing that the situation was not unfolding the way they had wanted it to. She reached out slowly and laid her hand on the center of Chains chest. His eyes closed, and she almost thought he was holding back tears for a moment.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s work together. Let’s fix this together.”
The tire iron fell in the dust.
“Let her go,” Chains said, his eyes still closed. “Let them all go. I don’t want to see them again. Get out of here.”
Abbey yanked free from the man who held her and ran towards them. Emma thought she’d run to Dean, but instead, she went straight past him, into the arms of one of the women who’d come along with Dean, wearing the same colors. They slid into a passionate kiss, then simply clung to each other.
Dean watched them, mild surprise playing over his features, and then he took Emma’s hand as she boosted him to his feet.
“Let’s go,” he said, dusting himself off. He glanced past her at Chains. Emma followed his eyes and noted how the big man was standing, his eyes still shut tight, his fists opening and closing as he stood. “Let’s go now,” he amended. He took her arm, and they moved quickly to the small cluster of Titans bikes on the edge of the property.
“We need to talk,” Emma said, but Dean shook his head.
“I’m getting you home,” he replied. “Your part in this is done. I’ve put you through enough.”
###
Dean
As the day wore into night, it started to rain. Not just a mild, light, summer rain, but the kind of sky-opening rain that made people run for cover, holding whatever they had over their heads even as the rain came at them sideways.
Dean sat on his sofa, a bag of frozen peas on his jaw where the rat had hit him hours ago, trying to relax past the tension that hadn’t faded out of his arms and legs. He’d gotten Emma home, and Sue had assured him that she was taking care of Abbey. How he’d missed their connection completely boggled him, and at some point, he and Abbey were going to have words about that. All the shit she’d given him about still being tied to the club, and she was making out with one of his club siblings? If she had avoided telling him because she thought he’d be grossed out about it being Sue, that would be annoying. He’d rib her about all her harassment, then falling for a club member, yes. Homophobia, hell no.
He had hated dropping Emma off. He wanted to take her somewhere and keep her safe, but so far, as far as he could figure, all he’d done was make her life worse. He’d listened to her report about the man who’d kidnapped her, and he’d told her what he knew about the Scorpions and what was going on. There had been a moment, a long one, where she ran her fingers down the back of his hand and asked him if he needed to go.
He didn’t know what she was asking in that moment. He’d forced himself not to care. Whether she was asking him to stay or not, he knew what needed to happen. He needed to walk away. What had been between them had been born of stress and tension and nothing else. They had no foundation, and keeping her close to him, no matter how much he wanted to do it, would just hurt both of them. He didn’t want to hurt Emma anymore.
Abbey was home safe. Mia wasn’t. Abbey hadn’t even known that Mia was taken. He had no leads. Emma said that the man who’d taken her appeared to know where Mia was, but there was nothing defining enough about her description, either of him or the car, to let him track them down. Emma had begged him one more time to call the police, and he’d refused again. To his surprise, Abbey had sided with him.
“This isn’t a normal thing, and even if it were, it’s not like the cops give a shit about a little black girl. Not in this town. If Dean thinks the club has the best chance of finding her, then that’s what we’re doing,” Abbey had said.
Emma’s fingers on the back of his hand. What had she wanted? Had she wanted him to turn his palm to hers, take her hand, and hold it tight? Lead her back into the bedroom and reassure her, with his mouth and his body, that she was finally safe?
Whatever she wanted from him, at that moment, he felt completely sure that he couldn’t give it to her. He had nothing left, nothing to offer her. His own child was in the hands of monsters, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
He’d drawn his hand back, nodded, and left. He’d gotten on his bike and ridden into the night as if he were a dark hero at the end of a noir film, disappearing out of her life as quickly as he’d come into it. He’d gone back to the clubhouse and relayed everything to Connell, who promised that he’d take care of things while Dean got some sleep. It seemed painfully clear that if Dean didn’t get that sleep, Henry was prepared to knock him over the head and make sure he got the rest.
He could barely see, he was so out of it. But it still felt awful. He couldn’t make himself go lay down in his bed. It was too much like accepting that Mia was gone, that he’d somehow failed. And besides, the pillow still smelled like Emma’s hair, and putting his face near it had brought his cock to such painful attention that he couldn’t make it go down, even after he stroked out a release.
He laid down on the sofa, holding the bag of peas against his jaw, and let himself drift. Sleep was way too much. But drifting was all right. It was okay. It was a different kind of restful, but he also trusted that if his phone rang, he’d grab the call before it went to voicemail.
Emma had told him what happened with her phone. It had been left in the park, she assumed; at least, she didn’t have it when she woke up. But she’d told him that the texts had come from Cassidy. He’d sent someone to look for her phone in the park, and someone to check on Cassidy, and someone to get Emma a new phone. If he managed all of these things, maybe he could be good enough to deserve her.
No. He shook himself mentally. He had to stop thinking like that. He had to remember how things had been when he first met Emma at the childcare center, when she was all dressed up, passing as middle class and respectable. Not when she’d put on her club gear and walked next to him just as strong and confident as any patched-in club member. He’d been on the edges of society long enough to know the look of someone who was trying to make themselves respectable. He wasn’t going to be the person who made that not true for her. At least, he wasn’
t going to pursue her. That was wrong. But if she came to him, all on her own?
His cock sprang to life again, and the roaring of blood in his ears was so loud that he almost didn’t hear the soft knock on his door. It took him a moment to recollect himself, to tuck himself away, stand up and walk to the door.
It would have been poetic if lightning had cracked through the air as he opened the door to find a petite, curvy woman on his doorstep, her curls soaking wet in a way he already knew was going to infuriate her as soon as they started to dry and frizz. But his life wasn’t poetic, and he’d never been as goddamn okay with that as he was right now.
“Emma,” he said, and his cock twitched, angry against the zipper of his jeans, and he did not care even one iota.
She looked up at him, and her eyes were red-rimmed, her lower lip quivering.
“I tried to stay away,” she whispered. And then she wrapped her arms around his neck, and it never for a moment occurred to him to turn her away.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma
As soon as it was clear that Dean wasn’t going to shut the door in her face, Emma stepped inside, put her arms around his neck, and sealed her mouth to his. If he had any resistance, it melted away in a moment. He wrapped one arm around her waist tugging her further inside as the other swung the door shut. As soon as it was closed, he rushed her back, pressing her tight against the door, his hands skating over her clothing. She was soaking wet, and her skin felt clammy and cold. When his hands came up under the hem of her shirt and teased at the flesh of her stomach, she gasped at the sudden heat. His mouth left hers, leaving traces down her neck as he kissed her jawline, her pulse, and the base of her throat. It was all very nice and sweet and incredibly hot, but it wasn’t what she wanted.
She reached between them, cupping the growing hardness between them and hearing him groan.
“Give me this,” she said. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Lady’s choice,” he replied. “Bed’s further but more comfortable. Couch is right there. Tell me what you want.”
She gripped him harder, and he cursed, breathless, against her mouth. “I already told you. I want this, fucking me as hard as you can.”
He laughed, the sound bordering on cruel. “That’s pretty damn hard.”
“I can take it,” she said. “I’m not made of glass.” She heard her voice shaking, though, and much to her extreme irritation, Dean seemed to hear it as well.
“Hey,” he said, all of the heat melting away as he stroked her jawline with one finger. Emma felt the tears welling again, and pointed her gaze up at the ceiling, trying to keep control of herself. “Hey, beautiful. What’s going on?”
The tone of his voice, careful and kind, made her think he knew but didn’t want to put words in her mouth. She took a few long, slow breaths, working to get control of herself again, and then eased gently past him to sit down on his couch. She took off the sweatshirt she’d thrown on before she left the house. It was damp on the bottom and soaked around the shoulders, and it felt uncomfortable and unpleasant now. He took it from her and draped it over a chair where it could dry. Once she sat down, he covered her knees with a light blanket. “Coffee or tea?”
“Just water,” she replied. “I’m too jittery for caffeine.”
“Sure.”
She waited until he handed her a glass filled with very cold water, and had sat down on the other side of the couch. It was close enough to be comfortable, but not close enough to make her feel pressured. Careful. A warmth swelled through her, chasing away at least some of the fear.
“I keep thinking,” she said, and even just those words slipping out made her body quiver in the most unpleasant way. She swallowed hard and focused on the feeling of cold emanating from the glass. “That — the man who took me. He didn’t hurt me. I’m sure he didn’t hurt me. But what if he had.”
Dean nodded, his expression carefully neutral, and she liked that. He wasn’t horrified or upset by the idea that she might have been violated.
“What if he had?” he repeated, adding just a little bit of a spin to the statement, turning it into a question.
She shook her head at the darkness of it. “I don’t know. I thought I could let it go. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t — I really don’t think he was trying to hurt me in any way, Dean. But he’s been in my home, and I couldn’t stay there. I tried to lie down and sleep, and it was like the walls were staring.”
His face went very dark. “What do you mean he was in your home?”
Shit.
“He said that Mia’s breathing wasn’t very good. Before the Scorpions pulled me out of the car. And he asked if she needed medicine. I told him yes, that it was in her backpack, which we’d left at my apartment. When you left me there, I looked, and it was gone. And I thought that was good. It is good! But someone being in my space like that?” She felt the shudder run through her again, and tears followed it, whether she wanted them or not. She put her hands over her eyes and just let them fall for a moment before she pressed them away. At least she’d cried off her makeup before she’d left. She didn’t look like a drunk raccoon, just someone who’d been crying on and off for too long.
“You shouldn’t have stayed there,” he said. “Why didn’t you call the police? Or call me?”
She looked at him, trying to find the words. When he’d dropped her off earlier, she had trailed her fingers down the back of his hand. She’d hoped against hope that he would turn his palm, meet her fingers, take her hand. Tell her that this wasn’t over, that he was dropping her off at home to keep her safe, but he would be back for her. That they’d talk. That they’d work together to understand some of the intensity that had evolved over the last few days.
Instead, he’d turned away and left. For his own reasons, and she didn’t inherently doubt them, but she inherently doubted her own value.
He sighed, letting it go. “Emma, what can I do? Why are you here?”
“I want to feel safe again,” she said. That was easy.
“And you feel safe with me?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Come here, then,” he said, opening his arms.
She slid into them easily enough, but it wasn’t everything she wanted. His cock was still rigid in his pants, and as he stretched out on the couch, her weight shifted against him, and he let out a tiny little puff of air that made her own body heat in response.
“I want to play a game,” she said, still hating the way her voice shook but loving the fact that he paused, slowed, listened.
“What sort of game?” he asked. His cock twitched against her, and — oh yes, yes, he was on the same wavelength as her.
“I want you to tell me what you would have done if you had captured me.”
He went incredibly still, marble still. “Are you sure?”
She nodded against his chest. “I’ll tap out if I can’t handle it. I need to hear a story about how this could have been different.”
“Just a story?”
Her body was surging with need in slow, steady waves. “Not just a story.”
Another one of those almost silent breaths. Slow, steady, controlled.
“Okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of her head. And then he moved, taking her hands from where they lay now, pressed lightly on his chest to keep her balance, to her sides, and then behind her back. He held her hands there with one hand while the other stroked the side of her body in long, possessive sweeps. Without a hand to balance, it was difficult to keep her head lifted. She lay down on his chest, giving in to the adrenaline rush and letting it wash over her.
“If I had picked you up in that park,” he said, his voice quiet as he chose each word carefully. She gasped at what his voice did to her. It had more growl than normal, more heat and intensity, and that shot straight to the core of her, surging through her in a broad rush that made her pussy clench and her hips shift against him. “I would’ve taken you somewhere private. I would’ve strip
ped you down to your bra and panties. And you would’ve woken up in a chair, your hands and feet bound. The room would’ve been warm enough that your body was still comfortable, and you wouldn’t be tightly bound enough to hurt, but you wouldn’t have been able to free yourself. And I would’ve been there when you woke up. Watching you.”
How had she gotten so wet so fast? Her panties were soaked against her body, and her nipples felt hard enough to cut glass. She could feel every beat of her heart in the swelling of her clit, and she wanted so desperately for him to be touching her more than he was. She turned sideways, just a little so that her breast was available. He obliged by cupping the flesh through her shift, finding the nub of its peak, and teasing it with his thumb. She gasped and shifted against him.
