Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(36)

I shook my head like a dog, splattering her with wet drops. “Then, here, have some more.”

“Hey, that’s—” I did it again. She squealed and leapt back, knocking over her beer. “Oh, crap.”

When she bent to pick it up, I shook my head and grabbed her elbow, straightening her back to her full—but short—height. “The rain will wash it away.” I held my hand out to her, still grinning like an idiot. “Come on. Follow my lead.”

She hesitated, looking at my hand as if I held out a gun or something even more lethal. Then slowly, she lifted her arm and slid her fingers inside mine. There was no denying that this moment felt heavier than it seemed, as if by taking my hand, she said something more.

Something I wasn’t sure I fully understood. I latched onto her and didn’t let go. Didn’t even want to. We made it out of the stadium in silence and were soon on Yawkey Way again. I was so lost in her, in the moment, that I almost missed it.

Almost missed what was staring me right in the face.

Halfway past the huge bay window, I froze. Inside the dingy bar, I saw the one thing I didn’t want to see. Blinking the rain away, I stared through the window, heart thudding loud enough to drown out the crowds around us. My stomach hollowed out, then squeezed tight, and for a second I thought I was gonna hurl.

Because sitting in a booth, clear as day, was my brother, Scotty. And he was with Bitter Hill guys. But if he was in league with the men who’d attacked Heidi, then . . .

No. It couldn’t be true.

“Lucas?” Heidi asked from beside me. “Are you okay?”

I could feel her eyes on me, but even so, I didn’t look away from Scotty. I couldn’t. Why was he here, with them? Scotty laughed, and money changed hands. After the Bitter Hill lieutenant tucked the cash into his pocket, he shook hands with Scotty, then tossed back a shot of vodka. Damn it all to hell, Chris was right.

Scotty couldn’t be trusted.

When I didn’t answer, Heidi stepped closer and peeked inside the bar, too. “What’s wrong? Is someone you know in there?”

I stepped in front of her, blocking her view. “No. I’m fine.” I rolled my shoulders and turned away, catching her hand again. The last thing I needed was Heidi seeing Scotty and asking questions. We might not be twins, but we were clearly brothers. If Scotty was dangerous, there was no way in hell I’d let him anywhere near Heidi. I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “I thought I saw someone I used to know.”

She licked her lips and glanced over her shoulder as I dragged her toward the curb. “Okay . . .”

Lifting my arm, I hailed a cab. One pulled up, and I glanced at the driver to make sure he wasn’t a threat. He looked innocent enough. Opening the back door, I motioned Heidi in first. Once I settled in, I told the driver my address.

She shivered and huddled over herself. “God, it’s cold out there.”

I forced a grin for her benefit, but it was hard. “The cold never really bothered me. It’s the heat that usually gets to me. There’s no escaping it.”

“I love heat. Heat is my best friend.”

I dragged a hand through my soaked hair. “Says the girl who wears shorts in winter . . .”

She laughed. It bubbled out of her. “Touché.”

Her hair was plastered to her face in wet, snaky tendrils, and her eye makeup ran down her cheeks in black streaks. I’d just found some concrete evidence that suggested my brother couldn’t be trusted, and it hurt. But there she was, still hugging my jacket to her head, looking as if she’d walked through a tornado and lived to tell of it. I still hadn’t shaken off that moment we’d shared in the stadium, and my heart thudded. Even with all that . . .

I’d never heard, or seen, anything more beautiful than Heidi laughing in my whole life. And I didn’t think I ever would, either. I didn’t know what to do with that.

So I did, and said, nothing.

Not even when we got home.





CHAPTER 12





HEIDI




The next night, I juggled a baking dish of lasagna in one hand and my phone in the other. It had been ringing for a good ten seconds, and Lucas hadn’t answered yet. It was close to five o’clock, and I had no idea what time he’d be home. Ever since our pseudo-date, after which he’d escaped downstairs the second we’d walked inside the building, I felt like we needed something to get through this evening in each other’s company.

So, I’d decided to cook dinner for him.

Also, I didn’t do idle well. And that was all I’d done all day.

Surprisingly enough, I’d found all the ingredients I’d needed to cook the meal from his cabinets and fridge. It made me wonder if he cooked himself. If he did, when had he learned? How? Maybe his mother taught him before she’d died, or maybe he’d learned as a necessity for survival, since he obviously lived alone.

Or did he simply enjoy it?

I had no idea, but I had so many unanswered questions about him that I could fill a novel with them. Questions I’d more than likely never get the answers to. Yesterday, we’d barely spent more than a minute talking after we’d gotten home from the game, but I’d briefly mentioned I liked drinking tea when I was stressed-out. He’d left while I’d been changing into dry clothes and came back with three different boxes for me twenty minutes later. I’d thanked him, and he’d gruffly reminded me that he didn’t need any “f*cking thanks.”