Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(8)

“What words would those be?”

Lifting his hand, he counted each word off on his fingers. “You. Were. Right.”

I snorted and lifted my own hand, mimicking his countdown. “Never. Gonna. Happen.”

He laughed. Actually laughed. And it was as irresistible as he was. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree. Until you say the words to me, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” I said, winking at him. “You’ll die waiting.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I’ve been able to go without oxygen for long periods of time. My brother used to tell me I was part fish.”

That was . . . adorable. Suddenly he became a lot more approachable . . . After all, how could someone who was part fish be . . . bad? And he had a brother. Another customer sat down at the other end of the bar. “I’ve gotta go take care of the other paying customers now. It was nice talking to you . . . Lucky.”

He let out a growl, and I walked away, swinging my hips, hoping it looked like I didn’t have a care in the world. The other customer was an old guy who came in at ten on the dot every night for a Sam Adams and was none too happy about having to wait. I could feel Lucas’s gaze burning into my back as I moved.

And twenty minutes later, when he left, he left alone. Not that I’d been watching or anything. Because I hadn’t been. I’d specifically forced myself not to watch him walk to the door. I almost succeeded, too, but then . . . I looked. And what I saw almost stopped me in my tracks. I thought he’d been watching me closely before. That was nothing compared to how he looked at me now. As he stalked across the dark, wood-paneled bar, he watched me as if he was a predatory hunter . . .

And I was his prey.





CHAPTER 3





LUCAS




The next night, I sat in an overpriced diner in a touristy part of town? hidden behind a trendy dance club that I normally would avoid at all costs. I’d spent all afternoon in solitude, counting my cash and packing up a bag in case I had to run. A guy like me always had an escape plan at the ready—especially when someone tried to knock him off while he was still locked up. I covered a yawn with my hand, shifting restlessly on the worn pleather booth we’d settled into.

Across the table from me sat Chris, who was holding his steaming mug of coffee with both hands and blowing on it gently. Red-and-white-tiled walls surrounded us, and waitresses in fake fifties clothing skated around the crowded restaurant.

He wouldn’t meet my eyes and kept glancing out the window as if he expected company, despite telling me it would be just us tonight. He took a sip from the mug before putting it down. He tapped his fingers once, then twice, on the table before he picked up the coffee again.

Everything about him was off, and it made me uneasy.

I patted my waist, feeling the hard edges of my holster. It was a violation of my probation to carry a gun, but if something was going down, then I damn well needed to be ready. I thanked God that throughout this f*cked-up betrayal I had coming my way, I’d have Chris. He was the one person in this world whom I actually trusted without a second thought. As much as I could, anyway.

“Enough. If you look out the window one more time, I might shatter it.” Shifting in my seat, I met his stare. “Why did you ask me to come here tonight?”

Chris shrugged. “Do I need a reason?”

“When you’re acting more skittish than a virgin turning her first trick?” I picked up my own coffee with my left hand. “Yeah, man. You kinda do.”

Across the restaurant from us, a family of four sat enjoying ice cream sundaes. They were laughing and smiling and looked so damn happy that it almost hurt to look at them. The stereotypical happy family of four, complete with a son and a daughter. The American dream. I’d never have that.

I’d probably never have kids at all.

All I had to hand down to my hypothetical kids was a world built on blood and other people’s tears. Who wanted to give that to their children? Not me. And I didn’t want anyone relying on me or crying when I was found dead in an alley.

Because that was the endgame for men like me: violent deaths, with a side order of heartbreak. Just another scumbag crossed off the Boston PD’s most-wanted list. That’s all I’d be. But did some minuscule part of me secretly wish I could have it all? The wife? The kids? The dog? The Cape Cod house with the white picket fence? Hell, yeah.

I also used to wish I could fly like Superman.

That didn’t happen, either.

Chris sighed and set his coffee down again, but he didn’t let go, and he leaned in. I did, too. After pressing his lips into a tight line, he said, “Do you remember that show we talked about yesterday? The crime drama?”

I cocked a brow. We certainly hadn’t been watching television on the docks, so this had to be some code for our conversation about someone making a move against me. “The one we watched at the bar on the wharfs?”

“Yeah.” Chris cleared his throat. “That one.”

A little girl’s laughter rang out through the diner, coaxing smiles from the other patrons, but the tension at our table was too thick for it to penetrate.

“I remember, yes. What about it?”

“You hear what happened in the first episode of the new season?”

I shook my head. “Nah, man, but you know I don’t mind spoilers.”