Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(38)

A knock sounded on the door, and I jumped.

I stared at it, not moving. I wasn’t supposed to leave, or answer the door, for anyone. I was under strict orders to avoid contact with the outside world at all costs, unless Lucas was at my side. I found it all to be a bit over-the-top, but I’d decided to honor his wishes. So I wasn’t opening that door.

Holding my breath, I didn’t dare move.

The person outside knocked again. “Open up, Lucas. I know you’re in there. I can smell the garlic from out here, and I’m hungry as hell, so you’re gonna share. It’s been years since you cooked for me.” The doorknob jiggled. “Stop f*cking around and let me in. We need to talk. Now.”

I tiptoed into the kitchen, grabbed the biggest butcher knife I could find, and backed myself into the corner. I didn’t open my mouth or make a noise, because I was hoping whoever was out there would go away. Give up and—

Metal rubbed up against metal, and the distinct sound of a key sliding into place made me stiffen. Shit, he had a key. I bolted for Lucas’s room at the same time the door opened, hoping to hide before I was sighted, but I was too slow to make it before I was seen. A muffled masculine curse came from somewhere behind me, and I ran faster, but not fast enough. Strong arms closed around me from behind, and I slashed at him with my knife, missing pathetically.

Screw being quiet. It was time to make some noise. “Let go of me! Help me!”

“Fucking—” He grunted and slapped a hand over my mouth with one hand, while yanking my wrist painfully to the side with the other. The sharp pain almost caused my fingers to let go, but I bit down on the attacker’s hand as hard as I could. He jerked away before I could do any real damage, shaking his hand off, then slammed it across my throat, cutting off my supply of oxygen. “Son of a bitch.”

I gasped in a breath. It was hard, because he was crushing me. “Get off me, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he growled in my ear, twisting my wrist even more and tightening his arm across my neck. “Who are you, and why are you in Lucas’s apartment? Tell me, as quickly as possible, or I’ll kill you.”

“Go to hell,” I gritted out between struggling breaths. It hurt more than I’d like to admit, or ever would admit. “As quickly as possible.”

“Have it your way, then,” he growled, yanking on my wrist even harder.

I lost the battle to hold on to my weapon. The knife hit the floor with a clang, and I followed it. He slammed me into the floor, trapping my hands behind my back and holding on with a death grip. My pulse skyrocketed, and I was sure that this was going to be it. The Bitter Hill gang had come to finish me off.

And this time Lucas wouldn’t be able to stop them.

Leaning down, he pressed his elbow into my upper back and said, “I repeat, who are you, and where is Lucas? What have you done to him?”

“N-nothing,” I stammered. “Get the hell off me.”

He yanked on my wrist even more, and I hissed through my teeth. He let up slightly. “Answer me.”

I rolled my head to the side so I could look at him out of the corner of my eye. An attractive man with dark brown hair and matching eyes had me pinned to the floor. He had a bit of a five-o’clock shadow going on, and from what I could see of them . . . his muscles were hard and defined under his brown leather jacket.

The same Steel Row jacket that Lucas wore.

Were they friends, then?

Since he had a key, the possibility was likely. But Lucas had told me to trust no one. I shook my head as best as I could with him on top of me, and the floor pressed up against my face. “Who are you?”

“Don’t worry about who I am,” he growled. “Convince me why I shouldn’t f*cking kill you, right here, right now, for being in my boy’s apartment.”

“Fine. He invited me here,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible. “I’m living here for a little while. We’re—”

“Bullshit,” he said, snorting. He tightened his grip on my wrist. “Lucas would never let a girl move in with him. Ever.”

I bit down on my tongue to keep the groan of pain from escaping. “He did. I swear it.”

“Why would he do that?” he asked, jerking on my wrist a little more.

The pain blinded me, and despite my most valiant efforts, I gasped. “Twist my arm any harder, and you’ll break it.”

He let up on me a little bit. “Answer. Me.”

“I’m his . . . girlfriend.”

He laughed. Actually laughed. “Sure. And I’m the pope.”

“But—” Footsteps on the stairs sounded, and I grinned. “You’ll see. He’s home, and he doesn’t like it when other men threaten me.”

It might have been my imagination, but the man straddling me stiffened.

The door flew open, and Lucas came charging in, gun drawn. As soon as he saw me on the ground, with my attacker on top of me, he froze. “Chris. What the f*ck are you doing?”

The man shot me a look, and for the first time since he’d attacked me, he seemed a little less sure of himself. “I came to talk to you and used the key you gave me. When I came in, I caught her running through your place with a big-ass knife, so . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence but shrugged casually.