Emma
Emma let herself rest, finally, for the first time during the long afternoon into evening. She wasn’t silly enough to think that what she and Dean did was going to mean something in a long, durable kind of way. It had been just sex, and while it had been good sex, it had been for a direct purpose. She needed to feel powerful, he needed to burn off some of the adrenaline that was coursing through him. They helped each other.
She forced herself to ignore the seed of comfort that was flaring through her as she played her fingernails over Dean’s shoulders. He was still breathing hard, big gasps that shook his frame. There was no logical basis for feeling like there was the beginning of a connection between them. She needed to stay focused on what was happening, right in front of her. She and Dean were going to work together with the Night Titans club to get back Mia and Abbey. Dean’s daughter and his sister-in-law. If God were good, they’d both be back in their beds before the night was over. And then Dean would, most likely, fade out of her life and her awareness. She was busting her ass to build a life away from — she sighed. Here, in this bed, it was hard to remember exactly what it was she wanted to get away from. Rough and tumble guys who only asked once, and then took it for granted that your answer counted until you gave a different one? The smell of motor oil and sweat blended together in a haze, baked into the ground and the walls? No. Those were the things that didn’t bother her. The violence and the murder and the threats were the parts that needed to be changed. Because kids got hurt. Kids like her. She didn’t know it for a fact, but she would bet that kids like Dean had been once, too.
During the conversation downstairs, Connell had something about Sam, and how she’d begged Dean to stop riding. Sam sounded like the name of Mia’s mother. If Dean hadn’t given up the club and the darkness for the woman he’d had a child with, what were the odds that he’d do it for some chick he’d just met? And even if she didn’t mind, what job would hire her to work in social services knowing that she had ties to the local motorcycle club? Dean’s story about them being the good kind of outlaw sounded great, but how true was it really? How much did he personally control of the club at large?
She forced herself to keep all of that in mind while he carefully withdrew from her, tied off the condom, and sat up on the bed.
“Thank you,” he said. His features were soft, his eyes more relaxed than she’d seen all afternoon. “Normally, I’d either offer to take you for a burger, or stay in bed and cuddle you until you were ready for round two, but I think we both know that we need to get focused and get moving.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I get it.” It wasn’t a rejection, she told herself firmly. It was all going according to plan. There was no point in being upset or angry or anything. This was what she’d signed up for, and she wasn’t going to flip out now. It wouldn’t help at all. She sat up and started digging around the bed for her panties and jeans. Her bra hadn’t even come off.
He came up behind her, his arms closing around her gently. She didn’t mean to lean into him, but she couldn’t help it. He was nearly magnetic in his pull, and it felt so good to have him close to her.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a delicate rasp in her ear. “What are you thinking right now?”
“Nothing much,” she replied. It wouldn’t do to let him know she wanted him.
“Because I want you to know, I wish to hell I’d met you in different circumstances. But I’m sure as shit glad that I did.”
You say that now. But what’s going to happen when this situation is resolved. Especially if, God forbid, we don’t get them back? Are you still going to be glad? Will you even pretend? But none of that was worth saying, so she just smiled.
“Me too,” she said. It was the truest thing she could manage.
His lips pressed down, just at the corner of her jaw, and she couldn’t contain the shiver that flitted through her. She was still hot and aching. That quick tumble had taken the edges off her need for him, but if he crawled back into bed, it wouldn’t take any real time at all to stoke her fires for another round. She was hungry for him, so hungry that it hurt. A function of emotional overload, she tried to tell herself, but it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.
“I’m not just running my mouth, Emma,” he said. “I don’t do that. I’m not that guy.”
“I’m glad,” she said because what else was there to say? No one thought they were that guy — or that person — up until their actions proved them wrong. And even then, they’d have some excuse as to why this time didn’t count, whatever it happened to be.
“Hungry? There are some cold cuts and stuff in the fridge. I need to make this call.”
She nodded because she was hungry. It had been hours since she’d had anything to eat. It felt like days since she’d offered Mia those crackers in the classroom. With the edge taken off one hunger, there was plenty more room for the other kinds. And for the growing fear in her heart. Both Connell and Dean seemed entirely convinced that Mia and Abbey were both alive, somewhere. She found herself more and more worried. What if it wasn’t about gathering favors or getting out of a tight situation? What if it was just about punishment? What if Dean had overstepped some line in the sand, and the woman and child were paying the price? It was painfully common, she knew that much. The men didn’t seem to think it was even possible, but what if Mia’s asthma had been triggered? What if they didn’t know enough to give her an inhaler? There were just so many ways for this to go horribly, horribly wrong. And she didn’t much of anything about Abbey, and what could be going wrong for her.
She forced her mind onto the mundane concerns of constructing a sandwich. Bread, turkey, mustard, some sliced cucumber, and radish. Spicy and warm and full of bite. Exactly what she needed to fortify herself.
There wasn’t really any way for Dean to leave the room without walking out onto the porch, but he didn’t seem to mind. He tapped his phone on and dialed a number, his gaze focused on the distance as he raised it to his ear and waited for it to ring.
“Fred,” he said, after a long moment. “This is Dean. We need to talk.”