Falcon

 

Falcon glanced back at Bridgette. She stood in the middle of the walk leading up to the house, looking around nervously, her overnight bag clutched in one hand. The break-in had shaken her up pretty badly, and it was clear she didn’t fully believe he could keep Martin’s men from getting to her.

 

He’d given her the better part of the day to make arrangements and get her stuff together. He’d wanted to give her space since she’d agreed to stay with him and hear him out.

 

Still, he’d worried that she would take off and do something stupid. She’d always been bull-headed. It was something he admired about her, but now it was a quality that might get her killed if she weren’t careful.

 

That was why he’d had Shark keep eyes on her to make sure she didn’t do anything reckless.

 

She’d just run errands, made phone calls, picked up her little girl from school, and took her over to some other woman’s house. She’d met him right where they said they’d meet—in an abandoned parking lot behind a church and the dry cleaners.

 

She hadn’t said a word during the ride to his house. He knew she was still mad. He hadn’t expected any less, but it bothered him that he could feel it in the way she held onto him. They’d spent so much time in the old days on his bike, her chest pressed hard against his back. In the old days, she used to cling to him with all her might not because she was scared, but because it felt good, she told him, to crush herself against his broad back.

 

Today, though, she’d only wrapped her arms loosely around his waist and kept a full inch of space between their bodies. He’d barely felt her behind him. It bothered him more than he’d thought possible.

 

Shark, Bill, and Leo had followed him over, and now they loitered on the street as they hammered out final details with Falcon.

 

“You sure you don’t want us to stick around?” Leo demanded. The big man leaned against the “No parking” sign just outside the place Falcon was staying at—a little two-bedroom home in a residential part of town.

 

Falcon flicked a few ashes from the cigarette he was smoking. “I’ve got it handled. Just keep an eye on the bakery. Call me if anything changes. Benny’s guy is still doing some digging, rattling trees and seeing what falls out. He still doesn’t have an answer for me on why the hell someone like Martin’s sending his dogs into a fucking bakery….”

 

Shark’s gaze hadn’t left Bridgette. The smaller man had been fascinated by Falcon’s old flame ever since he’d first set eyes on her. “She’s really got some fight in her, eh? Maybe you should send her after Martin. She’d give him an earful.”

 

Falcon scowled. “That greasy, shit-eating bastard isn’t going to get close to her. Not until I pay him back for his hospitality by ramming a buck knife up his ass.”

 

“The day’s coming,” Shark promised him. “Good luck, man.”

 

Falcon waited until the three Reapers had ridden off on their bikes before walking over to Bridgette’s side.

 

“This house isn’t yours,” she stated flatly, a flash of accusation in her vivid green eyes. “It had better not be. Because if you tell me you’ve been fifteen minutes away this whole time—“

 

“It belongs to one of the guys in my MC.” Kyle took her bag from her shoulder and started moving up toward the front door.

 

Bridgette followed. “The Raging Reapers. Great.”

 

Falcon held the front door open for her, indicating that she should enter.

 

She glanced back at him warily before stepping over the threshold into the house. Falcon followed close behind, pulling the door closed and locking it behind him.

 

Bridgette made her way down the hallway slowly, inspecting every inch of the house. He didn’t know why she was looking things over so closely. It wasn’t his place.

 

“You want a beer or something?” he called over his shoulder as he made his way back toward the bedroom. He tossed her bag lightly onto the queen bed and headed for the kitchen.

 

Bridgette still stood stiffly in the entryway that connected to the rest of the house, looking lost and a little dazed.

 

“Beer, Bridge?” he repeated.

 

She snapped out of her state at that, her focus returning to him. “Hm? Oh, sure. Why not?”

 

Minutes later they were both sitting at the kitchen table, sipping at their drinks in silence.

 

Falcon couldn’t help but watch Bridgette closely as she swigged her beer, the way her soft lips caressed the rim before she’d take a sip. The taste he’d had of her yesterday hadn’t been enough; he wanted to feel her against his mouth again. He wanted to crush her soft body against his and lose himself in the scent of her.

 

No, he told himself. He’d promised her that staying here wouldn’t be about them. It was only about her safety. He’d keep his word, and when he’d finally taken care of Martin, then he’d go back to her and court her properly. He had all the time in the world to make up for the last six years, and to show her he was right and that she still felt something for him.

 

“So,” she began, finally breaking the silence, “I see you moved up in the world. No longer drinking the cheapest, shittiest beer out there.” She tapped the label on the beer bottle.

 

Falcon’s lips twitched in a reflexive smile. She’d always complained about the brand he bought, claiming that if he was going to drink, he might as well enjoy it. “Yep. Now it’s the fourth cheapest and shittiest beer.”

 

Bridgette stared at her beer for some time. Falcon watched her in silence, deciding to let her make the first move here.

 

“So,” she said at last, “are you actually going to explain anything? Or are we just going to sit around all night?”

 

Falcon sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to alleviate some of his exasperation. “I told you I’d answer your questions. Shit, I just thought we’d relax a minute before jumping right into things.”

 

“I’ve had six years to relax. My business was torn apart today and I have no clue why. Christ, I’m scared, Kyle, and unwinding together over a beer isn’t going to fix that.”

 

Falcon could see it in her eyes. She’d always been a tough woman, even when they were younger. Stubborn with thick skin and a sharp tongue. But now, after everything she’d gone through in the past day, he could start to see the cracks in the front she put up.

 

She looked hurt and vulnerable in a way he’d never seen her before. And seeing her like that made his blood boil. It brought out a primal urge in him to tear limbs and break bones until she felt safe again.

 

Falcon took a deep swig of his beer, draining the last dregs, then rose to get another. He was still trying to straighten his head out and figure out where to begin. How to begin.

 

Part of him was imagining what it would be like to have her under him again. That would be one way to make her forget her problems, he thought briefly as he pulled another bottle from the fridge and popped the cap.

 

He shook his head, trying to dispel that thought. Now was not the time. Why couldn’t he remember that? He owed her answers. He was a lot of things, an asshole and a son-of-a-bitch chief among them, but he wasn’t a liar.

 

He settled back at the table. “You want to know why I left.” He stated it flatly. “I told you, it was to protect you. I swear to God I wasn’t trying, Bridgette, but I got myself into some deep shit one day.” Subconsciously he ran a hand over the raised ridge of the scar on his cheek. “I was off at my spot…you know the one, just messing around….”

 

Falcon told her everything he could. About Martin, about the threats, about the drug lord’s influence. He talked unflinchingly about the torture he’d endured. He told her about how he’d only thought of her, how he’d decided after escaping that a clean break—no contact, no explanation—was the only way to be sure one of Martin’s guys didn’t connect the two of them as an item and take her to get to him. He recounted how he’d found the Raging Reapers and started running drugs with them to pick up cash.

 

Falcon was halfway through his third beer when he told her he’d hated leaving her. “I started driving up once, in the middle of the night. Didn’t tell anyone where I was going or what I was doing. I was halfway up 231 when I realized how much I was risking. It had been months, no sign of Martin, no word on what he thought of my escape. But I’d be damned if I was going to chance anything with you.”

 

Bridgette had listened to him in complete silence until that point, her eyes on her beer and the woodgrain patterns of the table. Something he said must have made an impression on her, because she looked up at him directly, locked eyes with him, and reached across the table to place a hand over his.

 

Her touch was like warm silk. He grabbed her hand and began rubbing small, gentle circles in her flesh, relishing the smoothness of her skin. His eyes trailed up to hers, lingering for a few seconds on her breasts, which were straining against the material of her button-up shirt, before coming to rest on her face. Her lips rested gently against each other, and that gentleness seemed like an invitation to part them again. And then her eyes. He’d always found those vibrant green beauties to be intensely erotic.

 

He curled his fingers tighter around her hand, imagining what it would be like right then to pull her back into his arms, lift her up onto the kitchen counter, and take her then and there.

 

“But you’re back now,” she stated, pulling her hand back and drawing him out of that fantasy. “I’m guessing it has something to do with the mess in my bakery, and the creeps that have been hanging around.”

 

Falcon nodded. “Martin’s looking for something, I just don’t know what. And I have no idea what it has to do with your bakery. If it had something to do with you personally, they would have taken you already. I think it’s just a coincidence. We’re going to get to the bottom of this, Bridgette. You just have to sit tight and let me do what I do best.”

 

Bridgette looked like she wanted to say more. “Kyle, I don’t know…”

 

Falcon couldn’t help but grin a little to himself.

 

“What?” she snapped, her brow crumpling. “This is serious—“

 

“I know,” he reassured her hastily. “It’s not that. It’s just that you still call me Kyle. I haven’t gone by that name for years.”

 

Bridgette arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh, should I call you Falcon instead? I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings, you know. I know how sensitive you are.”

 

“That smart mouth is going to get you into trouble,” he warned her playfully. Then he added seriously, “I like it. I miss it sometimes, you know? Reminds me of a different time in my life.”

 

Bridgette turned contemplative again. She bit her lower lip a little as she turned her nearly empty beer bottle between her hands. “I told you I can’t close the bakery. I’m living too close to the wire. Besides, I can’t leave that mess downstairs. It’s just asking to become a serious health code violation. I have to go back—“

 

“Christ, Bridge,” Falcon growled, slamming his hand against the table. “We’re talking about your fucking life here. You’re not risking it for a few cupcakes. And don’t worry about the mess. I asked the guys to clean it up. Now, you look me in the eye and you swear to me on your life that you’ll stay here until I say it’s safe to go back.”

 

She hesitated.

 

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” he warned her in a low voice.

 

“Fine,” she conceded. Her green eyes flashed with irritation, but she seemed to be giving in. “I swear it. Cross my heart and hope to die. Okay?”

 

Despite the barbed sarcasm in her words, he believed she was sincere. She was smart, he reasoned. She wasn’t about to put her neck or her kid’s on the line. Besides, he had enough money sacked away now. If she was behind because of this, he would be more than capable of helping her catch back up.

 

He knew better than to offer that outright, though. She was too proud to accept charity, and there was no doubt in his mind that she was still too upset with him for having left—even understanding why now—to be able to accept anything from him. If she got into a bind, he could always go over her head, track down her landlord and put the money directly into his hands before she was the wiser.

 

Going behind her back would piss her off to no end, but there would be nothing she could do about it. Besides, he liked her when she was pissed off and full of fire.

 

Bridgette finished her beer, then leaned back in her chair. “I’m going to take a shower,” she announced, standing up. “Were you planning on making dinner, or should I try to work some magic on whatever you have lying around here?”

 

“I’ve got frozen pizza.”

 

She snorted. “Still a gourmet, I see.”

 

“Only the best for you.”

 

Falcon watched her sashay off.

 

Having her back under the same roof with him, teasing him, so close that he could just reach out and touch her whenever he wanted….It felt right.