The air seemed to pulse between them in the all-consuming silence that settled after her revelation. Waiting for him to confirm or deny his identity was moot—the wait itself had answered her. That, combined with the fact that no one else on the planet had ever called her Rennie.

No one but Dash Denyer.

Dash. How had she not seen this coming? How could she have possibly seen this coming? Five minutes ago, Serenity would have sworn under oath that she remembered everything about him. His crooked devil-may-care smile. His mess of sandy brown hair. His scarred eyebrow, purportedly the result of his first run in with the law when he’d been the tender age of eleven.

And his voice.

His deep, rumbly voice with just a hint of smartass. She’d had pictures—yearbooks—of him to carry with her after her father had shipped her off to boarding school, but she’d had to rely on memory for his voice. One of the conditions Dear Old Dad had outlined all those years ago was monitored phone calls. He’d wanted to cut every possible tie to Dash. No phone calls. No emails. No nothing.

And no word. No word for so long.

Serenity had promised herself in the early days, the first couple of years, that the second she graduated, she’d be back to stand up to her father, like all teenage girls with overly involved parents dreamed of doing. But real life had intervened, in the shape of new friends, evolving ambitions, and college scholarships. The closer she’d gotten to being a liberated adult, the less she’d wanted to go home—distance from Orson Jones had proven very good for her.

Even still, she’d never forgotten about Dash. She couldn’t. Once upon a time, he’d been her best friend. Her only friend. Hell, if he knew how much that time of her life had meant to her, she’d never hear the end of it.

Or she would, rather quickly, because Dash was no longer a teenager, nor was he her friend.

He was a dangerous man involved in a dangerous group. He was tangled with Gunner Black.

Shit.

Serenity swallowed hard, considering her options. His lack of a response burned the air between them. She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, feel the hard waves of tension rolling off his body. He didn’t have his pick of options—he could either ignore or acknowledge himself…or kill her, as he’d likely been told to do.

That thought made her breath catch, and suddenly, Serenity understood why she was alive. Why she’d woken up at all.

“You couldn’t do it, could you?”

Another shuffle of movement answered her. She pictured him, the adult Dash, crouched beside her, his head bowed, his eyes on the floor. His breathing had changed, from calm and measured to harsh and ragged, though Dash wasn’t the sort to recognize such a shift in himself.

“Gunner asked you to kill me and you couldn’t.”

“Shut up.”

The words weren’t said so much as growled, bitten, the nerve she’d hit raw. Serenity’s heart skipped a beat and she almost had to smother a grin. That tone was familiar—he’d used it every time she insulted her math skills. Math had been his forte, where English and History had been hers. A trained chimp would have a better shot at acing a geometry quiz. Dash never could stand to hear her put herself down.

But that Dash wasn’t the one in front of her. That Dash would never have aligned himself with the likes of Lucifer’s Legion. He certainly wouldn’t be party to whatever it was Gunner wanted him to do.

That Dash, the one in her memories, hadn’t yet experienced real loss. Serenity’s stomach dropped, her mind filling other blanks—the ones she’d almost let fade. And suddenly, a decade’s worth of declarations pressed against her lips. Grievances she’d never had the chance to give him, even after she’d begged Orson the privilege of a phone call. Things she’d learned through the grapevine. Obituaries—one in particular—she’d found when searching for news of home.

“Oh Dash,” she murmured. “This is about ten years too late, but I’m so sorry about Dalton.”

Everything around her went still, frighteningly so. And the silence was too much to bear. She began babbling. “I tried, you know. To call. I even tried to get my brother to send you a note. Or something. But you know Orson. Nothing got to the family without going through him. Any time I mentioned you—”

“Stop it.”

The words weren’t barked this time. Rather, they were pained. Serenity bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. Even still, she couldn’t stop from talking. “I should have been here. I wanted to. I begged Orson to let me come to the funeral, at least. Or send flowers. Or—”

A harsh laugh cut through her confession, one that had her shivering. “You never could let something go, could you?”

The next thing she knew, the pressure at her eyes was gone. It took a few seconds for the sensation to register, for her to realize he’d removed the blindfold. Another moment lapsed as she blinked her shocked eyes, willing the shapeless colors around her to turn into something recognizable. Slowly, the scene around her began to solidify.

Tools. Three or four motorcycles, and a lot of empty space. A banner with Lucifer’s Legion emblazoned in dripping red, undoubtedly in an effort to imitate blood. Their insignia—the demonic skull inside a pentagram—bookended the words. There was a door to her right, sandwiched between work-shelves…and there was Dash.

Serenity allowed herself a moment to drink him in, so much of him familiar to her, the rest foreign from age and distance. His face was the same, though the lines were firmer, the jaw-line covered with a smattering of whiskers. His nose looked a bit crooked too, possibly the result of a healed break. His hair was as unmanageable as she remembered. The rest of him was almost startling in how little she recognized—he’d never been scrawny, but she hadn’t been prepared for the tight, hard muscles that comprised his arms, or the ink that doctored his skin. The Dash she’d known had had a horrible fear of needles—judging by the extensive artwork, he’d outgrown it.

The tattoos were breathtaking, mostly swirling lines and characters she didn’t recognize. There were a few she identified—the symbol for Lucifer’s Legion and the nods to Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin most prominently. The cover of Dash’s all-time favorite album, The Dark Side of the Moon, had been given a place of honor.

Right over the tattoo of a headstone, one marked D.F.D, 1990—2008.

Serenity blinked, horrified to find her eyes had watered. She stared at that sad patch of skin a moment longer, then dared herself to meet his intense brown eyes.

The man looking back at her was not warm or friendly. He didn’t look moved, either. Hell, he didn’t even look annoyed. Just…blank and impassive. Like he didn’t recognize her.

“Dash…”

He blinked at her. “You’ve cut yourself,” he said, flicking his eyes to her wrists. “Rennie, this is important. I’m gonna uncuff you. And you’re not gonna do anything to make me regret it. Are you?”

She wet her lips and shook her head. Truthfully, her fear had almost abandoned her entirely. Her very logical brain kept trying to reassert its claim over her sensibilities, but seeing Dash again had a funny affect on her. She knew she couldn’t trust him—a long time had passed since they’d been friends—but trusting him had been instinct a lot longer than not. A part of her would always trust him, regardless of who he was now.

Seemingly satisfied, Dash produced a small key and reached to uncuff her. It took a moment to convince her sore muscles to comply once she was free, and movement made her shoulder burn. Serenity did her best to cover, but she had no hope of hiding her grimace.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The words were flat, but when she looked at him, something had changed in his eyes. “I think it’s dislocated.”

“Yeah. Some asshole decided to T-bone my car.”

Dash’s mouth twitched. “I can pop it back in. It’ll hurt like a bitch, but—”

“Do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“It’ll feel better after. I can do short term pain for long term gain.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted to his knees and edged around her. Serenity would have sworn she felt her cells react to him, if she believed in such a thing. His body seemed to call to hers, warm and magnetic, familiar yet so not. And watching him move, even if it was on his knees, was enough to make her very aware of herself in ways she would never have anticipated when she awoke.

Dash was not a boy anymore. His jeans, which had absolutely seen better days, hugged his hips like a second skin. His arms were bare for her perusal thanks to the black wife-beater that seemed painted on his torso. He looked…

God, he looked good. She hated how good he looked.

She hated that she liked looking.

When he placed his hand on her shoulder, she inhaled and braced herself. Correcting dislocated shoulders was one of those things she’d seen characters in movies and television do, and it always looked painful. He whispered a warning to her, but he needn’t have bothered. She was ready.

And she did herself proud by not making a sound beyond a hard grunt. The blinding white rush of pain threatened to consume her, but settled almost as quickly, leaving her shoulder feeling sore but…well, she could live with sore.

“Oh thank you,” she murmured.

“Don’t mention it,” Dash replied. Then he was in front of her again, kneeling. “I knocked it out in the first place, remember?”

Serenity nodded, her chest falling. “He wants me dead.”

“Yeah.”

That was progress, at least. If they could talk about it, maybe they could resolve it.

Maybe she could find out what had happened to her best friend.

“He killed two people right in front of me,” she said, her voice low. “Was I supposed to pretend that didn’t happen?”

Dash looked away. “What if you were?”

“You know me. I couldn’t do that.”

“No. You never could. No matter what it cost you.”

A strained, unpleasant smile flirted with his otherwise sexy mouth. God, she so didn’t need to be thinking of Dash as sexy. The logical side of her brain declared war on the rest of it. After all, the man had injured her, kidnapped her, and before they were through, he might do worse. She couldn’t assume she knew him because she had once upon a time. Because they’d been…whatever they’d been.

“How did this happen?” Serenity whispered.

Dash cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

“You. You’re with Gunner. In Lucifer’s Legion.” She almost spat the words. Since that awful night, she’d grown to hate them. “You know what this is, don’t you? What they do?”

“Of course I do.” Dash glared at her. “Gunner’s my brother.”

That made no sense. “Your—”

“In all the ways that matter, Rennie. He’s my brother. He gave me this. A chance. Something to make of myself. To…” He broke off and shook his head, his nostrils flaring. “He gave me a reason.”

“To what?”

“To not follow Dalton. I owe him. Fuck.” Dash was on his feet the next minute, tearing up the floor in front of her in a fast pace. “I owe him.”

Serenity frowned. “What do you mean, not follow Dalton?”

He stopped and glared at her. “Just the way it sounds.”

“You wanted to kill yourself?”

“I didn’t want to, Rennie. I did. Tried, at least. Damn near succeeded.”

Everything inside her went cold, her fingers numb. “Dash, why would you ever—”

A hard, callous laugh sliced through her words. “Don’t you know?”

There was only one answer that made sense. “Because your brother died?”

“No. Because I killed him.”