Dean
For all the bluster and banter Dean was putting on for Emma’s benefit, his stomach was starting to swirl with worry. No call meant that something was very wrong. If they, whoever they were, knew how important Abbey and Mia were to him, why hadn’t they called to tell him what they wanted? Sure, it had been about an hour, but wouldn’t they want him to know?
It was possible that someone had figured out that he’d been a witness — in one way or another — to both of the grabs, and so they were waiting to make him frantic before calling to offer some hope. That was how he’d play it if he were the kind of shithead to run this sort of plan.
He didn’t know where Abbey was, had no clue if Mia was okay. She was big enough to tell someone about her inhaler if she needed it, right? But would they believe her? Would someone have medicine to give her? He never had to deal with her asthma on a day to day basis, just been there when she’d had a couple of mild attacks. But he knew that the attacks got worse and worse if they weren’t relieved, the lungs slowly irritating themselves more and more. Asthma killed people.
He had to forcefully push his mind away from that thought. Focusing on Emma’s impressive ass was easier. She’d undressed in front of him without the slightest hint of shame or consideration. It was like he wasn’t there. Somehow, that was a thousand times sexier than a calculated strip tease or sending him out of the room for privacy that was only about making him wonder what she looked like. Actual privacy, of course, was very different, but that faux concern thing always drove him nuts. People who stared at him from under their eyelashes, murmuring about how ugly they were in a clear attempt to get him to contradict them. That had never turned him on.
Sam had been incredibly straightforward in a time when she was punished even more fiercely for it, especially in their mellow New England city. A Black woman who didn’t put down her eyes and act demure, but also refused to be shoved into the “Angry Black Woman” stereotype had been something else, especially when he was twenty, and didn’t realize yet that those stereotypes were a thing for a reason. He’d loved her with his whole being, and sometimes he still missed her. But he’d stopped carrying a torch for her a long time ago. She was gone, and part of him would always love her. More of him would always love Mia. Though having someone in his life to love would be better than mourning the woman who’d died when he was still essentially a child.
He found himself taking a couple of quick steps to catch up to Emma, and then reaching out, taking her hand in his, and smiling. She looked startled for just a moment, surprised at the familiarity of the motion. After all, they’d traded sexual innuendo and heat, not any kind of actual attraction. But after a moment, she smiled back, settling her fingers into his grip, and adjusting her pace to match his.
It was clear that she cared about Mia. She hadn’t asked awkward questions about his life, or Mia, or why this was all happening. She just wanted to help. That was worth so much. For the first time, he felt a certain kinship with her, not just a need for the relief he thought he might find in her body, or a feeling that he had to keep her with him to make sure she didn’t call the police. Something more. It was nice. A warm, delicate feeling. He enjoyed it as they walked down to the car. She slid into the Buick with the same reverence he had. He liked that, too.
He drove them across town. At some point, he needed to pick up his bike from the clubhouse. He’d be able to get around town more nimbly, and it would be simpler. He could trade out his plain leather jacket for the one with the club colors and brand. He hadn’t worn it racing, just in case some random cop with a hard on for extra-judiciary justice saw him at the gravel pit and decided to express his displeasure, but for whatever came next? He thought it might be necessary. To show that he was “not the man with whom to fuck” (as the old movie quotation went).
The Night Titans Clubhouse was, as so many club hangouts were, located just behind the garage that he and Connell had started when he got out of school. Connell had been working there for a decade already. When his old boss finally retired, the two of them managed to scrape together the money to buy the place from him. In reality, Connell had scraped together the money, and Dean had spent years owing him, working for not much money, and the apartment above the garage, as a place to sleep.
But over time, they’d worked various things out, and Connell said they were now square. Of course, Dean’s rise to VP of the club had made a difference as well. They worked together, and well, not just in the clubhouse or on the floor of the garage, but as friends. They understood each other.
When he and Emma pulled into the parking area in front of the garage, his every nerve was screaming, and not just because of the beautiful woman who had taken his hand whenever it wasn’t resting on the shifter. No, he was potentially walking into a war zone that could take his daughter’s life.
When he shut off the engine, he murmured to Emma, “Hold on a second.” He forced himself not to hurry around the car to open her door, taking his time and keeping his body relaxed. When he held the door open for Emma, his heart skittered to a brief halt. How had she changed so much in one car ride? Gone was the quiet and demure downcast eyes, the slightly reserved posture. She’d changed her makeup, but that wasn’t it. Her entire body was a statement. She looked like every girl he’d ever brought here, every girl who had ever caught his attention, and it was more than just the clothes or the curves. She looked powerful. Transformative.
She followed him across the lot and into the garage. The bay closest to the office was empty, as it often was, and Connell was sitting on a stool, with several of the other club members standing around him. A few mechanics were working on the cars in the full bays, not paying much attention. The sun was nearly down – Dean was surprised they were still working at all. Everyone looked at him evenly, neither challenging nor avoiding his gaze. That felt like a good sign. If Connell had pulled all the members in to create some sort of takedown, he doubted that everyone would be this easily committed.
Connell gave a jerky nod as Dean approached, Emma just a half pace behind him. It was interesting how she’d put herself slightly behind and to the side of him. He’d seen her body, top to bottom, while she’d been dressing in her room, and she didn’t have any ink. She could have been in combustible situations like this without ever picking up a gang affiliation, he supposed, but it seemed unlikely. At least, for his world. But right now, she seemed to be easily straddling the line between arm candy and ally, and it was just one more thing that made him fascinated by her.
“No luck yet on either of them,” Connell said, but his gaze was now locked on Emma. “You find anything?”
“Not yet,” Dean replied. “Abbey’s place has been swept. I don’t like that at all.
“No, I don’t either. You think this has something to do with the Titans?”
Dean gave a shrug that was supposed to look noncommittal. “Hard to tell. I can’t figure any other reason that someone would be after her. She doesn’t have enough money or power to attract really big attention, and she hasn’t been dating anyone recently. It’s unlikely there’s someone out there doing a snatch and grab. I’m her closest tie to anything on the dark side. What I can’t figure out is how the hell someone connected us.”
Connell gave a loose shrug that Dean realized was carefully designed to mirror his own. “I dunno, man. You do plenty for that lady and her kid.” Was there an emphasis on the word her? Maybe? It was hard to tell. Clearly, he was overanalyzing everything at the moment.
But if he didn’t want to completely blow his cover and destroy everything he’d been working for, he was going to need to at least pretend that he was cool, calm, and collected – that Abbey was just some random girl he helped out. He opened his mouth to ask Connell for suggestions on their next move, but what came out was, “Are you fucking kidding me? Stop pissing on me and telling me it’s raining.”
There was an ugly skidding noise that made Emma flinch next to him as the feet of Connell’s stool scraped hard against the concrete. He didn’t so much stand as he became upright, a mean glare over his face. Dean had to fight to straighten his spine. He’d seen that ugly anger in Connell’s eyes more than once, but never before directed at him.
“I think we should take this into the office,” Connell said, his voice snapping with tension.
It wasn’t how Dean had planned to get the other man alone, but it was better than nothing. He jerked his head at Emma to tell her to follow along.
Connell shook his head. “Nope. The girl stays.”
“The girl comes,” Dean replied, then winced at his wording. The guys around him laughed, and Connell cracked the edge of a smile.
“Does she now? Well then, fine. We’ll make it a party.”