Dean

 

Dean pulled up to the old warehouse with half a dozen of the Titans riding with him. He was starting to feel like he’d crossed this town a dozen times in just a few hours, even though it had been much less than that. Worry for Emma, worry for Abbey, and worry for Mia were all consuming a substantial portion of his mental abilities. Fighting with that Rat back at the clubhouse had thrown him for a loop, and he didn’t like it at all. That was the second time in two days someone had pulled a potentially deadly weapon on him. And the way Marv had been so damn coy about what was waiting for him here. What did that son of a bitch know? There had to be something, something that could explain all of this. But what it could be? Dean didn’t have a damn clue.

 

The outside of the warehouse still looked deserted. This was an old factory from when this little New England town had been a manufacturing hub. It had gone out of business some thirty years ago, and many of the machines had been broken down for scrap, shredded, taken away whole cloth. Some were left, skeletons left out for the buzzards. Broken glass everywhere. Graffiti everywhere.

 

This was how he would have hidden the Titans, too, if it had come to that. Make them look like the spot was just as deserted as it had always been. Because he was looking, he could see signs. The tire tracks were too fresh, and there were too many of them for him to be looking at a bunch of tracks from random kids out here on bikes. He could see the flash of unbroken glass up on the second floor, where he would have set up some mirrors to help relay information down to where he could stay out of sight.

 

Marv hadn’t explained why he’d sent half the club off while he’d gone to confront Connell and the Titans, but then, it hardly mattered. Whatever rational the man wanted to offer, the point was that he had information about the women, and this was where he’d said Dean had to go to get it. There wasn’t anything else to discuss. For better or worse.

 

The brothers who’d followed him formed up behind him without discussion. Dean didn’t lay hands on his piece as he walked towards the warehouse, but his hand itched to wrap around the iron. It was nothing good, being out here without something to protect himself. It was dangerous in the worst possible way. But if he walked into that house looking like he’d arrived ready for war, he’d be dead before he spoke to anyone, and that wasn’t acceptable. No matter how angry he was, no matter how much he wanted to hurt someone to ease off his own guilt. It wasn’t okay. He couldn’t let it be okay.

 

About five feet from the door to the warehouse, which stood slightly open, Dean planted his boots and waited.

 

“Marv sent me,” he called, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans, and waiting for a response.

 

It took some time for one to come, and then a voice came out of the top floor window. Someone was leaning out, not far enough for anyone to have a clear shot at him unless they were some kind of sniper, but enough to make sure their voice was clearly heard. “Who are you?”

 

Well. That was an ego-blow. Dean had to laugh. He’d gotten a little too used to people knowing exactly who he was the last few days anyway. “Dean Patterson. I’m the VP of the Night Titans. I was sent by Marv to take possession of a woman you have here.” Emma or Abbey, he wondered. Who would be brought out to meet him? Who, if anyone, was going to be here?

 

There was a long moment, and then Dean saw movement on the ground floor, across from where he was standing. A figure, tall and broad, stood back in the shadows.

 

“I haven’t heard from Marv,” rumbled a basso voice. “Who the fuck are you again?”

 

“Dean Patterson,” Dean said, running through the fine points of his posture in his mind. The last thing he needed to do was to set off some over-tired and trigger-happy ex-militia dude who was on completely justifiable edge. “VP for the Titans. I know you guys have been through hell tonight, and I’m not looking for any trouble. I just want the woman.”

 

The man took a few steps forward, moving into a patch of weak sunlight, filtered by the dusty shards of glass still left in the windows. He was bald; it looked like the top had come naturally, and he’d buzzed the sides short to match. He had a trim beard, however, salt and pepper brown, and tattoos of chains starting at his knuckles and wrapping up his forearms, then disappearing into his elbows. Dean placed him then. Called Chains, the man wasn’t an official within the Scorpions organization, but he was known as the kind of guy who really enjoyed doing the club’s wet works. Dean’s stomach churned at the thought of anyone he knew at this man’s tender mercies, but especially those he cared for.

 

“What woman? What’s her name?”

 

There was something about the way he asked. It put Dean even more on edge than he already was, and he felt the Titans behind him shift carefully. They didn’t want to set anything off, any more than he did, but they were just as concerned as he was. He could feel it, breathing behind him.

 

“That’s the funny thing,” Dean said, pushing his lips into a smile that he hoped seemed genuine. “Marv wouldn’t tell me. But he assured me that at least one of them was here. That in fact, you had traded something important to get her, so that you’d have leverage over the Titans and me. Because Marv seems to have a funny idea that we were somehow involved in what happened to your clubhouse.”

 

“Weren’t you?”

 

“No. There are a lot of things that the Titans does, man, but violence and shit that gets people killed ain’t on the list.”

 

The big man shifted, crossing his arms across his chest in a way that made his tattoos ripple. “That’s not what I hear. In fact, the rotting body of my friend Fred seems to put the lie right to that idea.”

 

Dean wanted to shout, but he forced himself to bite back his irritation instead. “Fred Killian was a friend of mine, too. I’d known him for years, since school. I want to find who killed him, and I want to obliterate them. If you want, we can have a foot race, see who gets there first. But me and mine had nothing to do with that. I give you my word.”

 

“Yeah? And what’s your word worth?”

 

Why was this guy standing here, jawing on his own? There had to be more people here, something had to be happening while Dean was hyperfocused on the man in front of him. He trusted the rest of the Titans to have his back, but was there something none of them were seeing? He tried to be subtle as he glanced up, looking for rifles or guns in the upper story windows, but there wasn’t anything.

 

“I think you’ve got this the wrong way around,” he tried to say, but there was a tire iron coming at his head, so fast that he almost didn’t duck out of the way in time. He stumbled back, losing his footing, and threw up a hand, fully expecting the tire iron to break his forearm and then come for his skull.

 

But it didn’t. Chains stood over him, the tire iron raised and ready. The other Titans members had drawn back, and suddenly everyone had a gun on everyone else.

 

“Let’s all just take a breath here,” Dean said, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. He’d fallen badly, lost his breath, and his voice was barely carrying at all.

 

“Bring them out,” Chains shouted, and one of the men that Dean had known had to be somewhere started to move. “Let them see what’s going to happen.”

 

###

 

Emma

 

Emma tried to stay calm when the biggest number of the club members stepped out of the small backroom area, Chains in the lead. She could hear some conversation towards the front of the building, but not anything specific. Her heart was pounding in her throat when someone came back and motioned to the thugs still holding on to her and Abbey. They were pushed forward together, each of them held by one strong arm. Emma’s instinct was to kick and fight, but when she glanced sideways, she saw that Abbey was moving along smoothly. It made sense. They didn’t know where they were going, and they didn’t know how to get out of this damned building anyway. It was a maze of industrial machinery and raised catwalks and all sorts of mess. Emma knew she could find her way out if she were walking along, but running away from someone? Someone who was bigger than her, and madder than her? That didn’t sound like a good idea at all. She moved along, not pushing back against the too-tight grip on her wrists. No matter how much she wanted to.

 

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.