Chapter 20
Twenty
Raven
Goddamn Declan Hale.
He assures me that he’s had no relationships, confirming what I already suspected. And I believe him.
He practically gets down on one knee and tells me he wants to tie our lives together—after only two weeks.
Then he completely closes down and withdraws, giving me one-word answers for the rest of the evening.
That’s a pattern I know only too well: men who run hot and cold, until one day they only have cold left, and don’t come back. I know this pattern; I wrote the book on falling for it. And Declan’s already shown me what’s on the forecast.
Why do I put myself through this?
Taking advantage of him being out of the bed, I change the sheets, using up my last spare while he’s wearing the only other one I have.
The one I strip from the bed is fit only for the trash, and the mattress is stained pink beneath.
For now, I flip it, which will at least give us a slightly drier night than the last two.
Actually, fuck that. After the way he’s been, I’m sleeping on the couch.
First, I have to help him back into the bedroom, which means pressing up against him while he’s barely able to walk, vulnerable, and so very, very naked. It doesn’t matter how angry I get at Declan Hale, my body still responds to him every time I see him. Let alone have to touch him.
The most annoying, aggravating man in existence.
“Good night,” I mutter as I set a glass of water down on his nightstand, next to his bottles of pills. I’m halfway across the room before he speaks.
“Where are you going?”
“Couch.”
“No.”
No? The hell does he mean ‘no’?
I spin back to him, ready to give him a piece of my mind, only to see him sitting up, in the awkward process of getting his injured leg out of the bed. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Your apartment. If anyone’s sleeping on the sofa, it’s me.”
Goddamn this man.
“One, the couch is barely big enough for me. It sure the hell isn’t big enough for you—”
“—Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“—Two, which of us has been shot?”
“I’m feeling much stronger.”
I cross my arms. “The hell you are.”
Declan pauses, sitting on the edge of the bed. Then the stubborn man pulls himself up to stand, all his weight on his good leg, fucking naked next to my bed.
I’ve just got him into it, and I can still feel the press of him all down my side. I do not need the reminders of his body right now.
“Lie the fuck down before I push you down and tie you there.”
His lips twitch. “With what? If you have bondage rope, that would’ve been good to know.”
My breath catches. I’m clothed, he’s the one naked and injured, yet in that moment, it’s me that feels vulnerable. It’s me tied down in the images in my mind.
It takes a second to remember why we’re arguing.
“Get back into bed.” It’s all I can do to say those words, and it comes out with far less force than it should.
“I’m sleeping here if you do. Otherwise, I guess we’ll both sleep in the living room.”
Fuck. Declan. Hale.
I glare at him, walking around to my side of the bed. “You are the most stubborn, annoying, aggravating man of my existence.”
He waits until I’ve got in before he sits back down again. Swings his legs on with visible effort and a poorly hidden wince. Lies down, favoring his injured side, holding his breath as his body tenses.
“I really hate you right now,” I mutter.
“That’s funny, because I was just—” He cuts himself off in midsentence, grimacing.
“You were just what?”
“Never mind.”
“No, tell me. I’m sure it’s enlightening. Because you were just what?”
He takes two slow breaths. “Just thinking how fucking attractive you are when you’re angry.”
I turn away from him with an infuriated sound, tugging the duvet up harder than necessary.
The bastard chuckles.
I spin back. “Are you laughing at me?” Just let him dare.
“You harrumphed.”
I stare at him. “I did not harrumph.” I might’ve harrumphed.
“Of course not,” he says insincerely, mouth quirking with ill-suppressed humor. “My mistake.”
I turn away again, silently this time, scowling.
One-word answers all evening, and now, in the space of two minutes, bondage references, calling me attractive, and laughing at me.
Declan takes his pills, then kills the lights. We lie in the dark, listening to each other’s breathing.
“I’m sorry about… earlier,” he says.
“Which part?” I mutter. “The part where you said ‘ask me anything’ then clammed up after one question, or the part where you basically told me you want to have a baby with me?”
He’s quiet for so long I don’t think he’s going to reply.
Then he does.
“The first part.”
Fuck.
The worst bit is the way my body tightens at that implication, so sharp it’s a moment before I can draw a breath.
No, I was wrong. The worst bit is that maybe now I don’t hate him as much as I did a few minutes ago.
But he’s still the most aggravating man in the world.
Clothes for Declan arrive the next day. He’s ordered a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts, along with some loose-fitting shorts that will be a lot easier to get on over his leg.
No underwear, of course.
He stubbornly dresses himself, sitting on the edge of the bed, wincing as he bends to hook his shorts over his feet. That would be his side hurting. Then tensing and closing his eyes as he draws them up his legs. That would be his thigh.
I shake my head. “If I leave you alone in the apartment for an hour or two, will you promise me not to leave, do calisthenics, or rearrange the furniture?”
“Where are you going?”
I pull shorts and a sports top out of a drawer. “For a run.” I could use the space, and I’m sure he could too. “I’m taking my phone and my AirPods. Call me if you need me.”
It’s a hot day, the sky blue and streaked with thin white clouds.
I head north, up into Blanchard Canyon, listening to Spotify.
It’s five miles up to Mount Lukens through a spiderweb of narrow dirt trails, the elevation doing more work than the distance.
I hadn’t intended to go so far, but I soon find myself pushing for the peak, feeling the burn in my legs.
Needing the solitude and the time to think.
The view is the best bit, LA a smudge below, hazy with heat and distance. I stop to take it in, processing Declan and my guilt.
Yes, guilt—not just for intruding on his privacy and following him, but for holding him responsible, too.
He was never to blame, but I blamed him.
Would he have put himself in harm’s way for me if I hadn’t made him worry so?
Got shot, for me, if I’d turned up for that damn date?
What if he hadn’t—would I be dead now, or would Cole have arrived and put that security guard down?
It’s not just guilt for that, either, for after the trip back home, my goddamn upbringing is rearing its head, Mormon values never truly forgotten. Chastity—that’s a laugh—tangling with shame and my desire for him.
I can escape my apartment, escape him—at least for an hour or two—but I can’t escape myself.
Hell, I’m not even sure I can escape him. Not anymore.
The man is… obsessed. That’s the word. Obsessed, with me.
How is that a thing?
I’ve spent my whole life being overlooked, left, or used. Obsession is a new one. I’m not sure I hate it as much as I should.
Is it wrong to think it’s almost… nice?
That thought circles in time with the rhythm of my run, and I push myself harder, trying to dispel my disquiet.
It’s taken me two hours to reach the peak, and I told him I’d be gone that long. So it’s not a surprise when my phone rings through my AirPods. I double-tap to answer. “Sorry, went farther than I intended. I’ll be back soon.”
“Well, that tells me where Declan is,” Kurt drawls in my ear. “How are you both doing?”
Shit.
“Uh… good. He’s stronger.”
“Steven said he should be up and about in a week. He got lucky.”
Lucky? He got shot. “Yeah, I guess. If by lucky you mean not dead.”
Kurt chuckles. “Do I detect a note of protectiveness?”
“No.” Maybe. “What do you want?”
“Your opinion. The next job is the big one. I’m going to ask you again, now that you’re closer than ever: can we trust Declan?”
“Why are you asking me, Kurt? You always make up your own mind on the crew.”
“Yes, I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t seek input. And you know him better than anyone.” He pauses. “Last time you didn’t have an answer, and I want to know if that’s changed. So. Can we?”
I hesitate.
Declan’s never been anything but straight with me. Any doubts have been of my creation, not his. He’s never told me who that woman is, or why he was taking her jewelry, of all things, but I’ve never asked, either. And neither can I, without admitting I followed him.
He’s good at what he does. No, he’s better than good. That swinging stoppie, using his bike as a weapon? Maybe half a dozen riders I’ve ever known could pull that off, without having to hit a target.
The truth is, if he wasn’t lying naked in my bed right now, I would already have said yes.
So why am I delaying?
Because I still have doubts and questions.
Where does Declan go every Saturday? Why does a man like him join a gang like Briggs’s? How does two-years-and-change without a relationship translate to obsession with me in only two weeks?
“You still there?” Kurt prods.
“Sorry, up a mountain. Surprised the signal is as good as it is, frankly.” I scowl at the nest of communication towers only a hundred yards away.
“Oh, so you gave me an answer?”
Shit.
“The answer’s yes, all right? We can trust him.”
“Come to the unit Sunday evening. Planning session.”
“Declan too? If he’s fit by then?”
“He will be. And yes, Declan too. We’ll go with your gut.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I stop him before he hangs up. “You just agreed that you make the calls on the crew.”
“I just did,” he replies. “And I’m basing it on your call. Let’s hope you’re right, huh?”
The line goes dead.
Great.
Yeah, let’s hope I’m right.