Chapter Nine
Burn Motherfucker, Burn
Dusty didn’t bother waiting to hear an explanation. The knife spoke volumes all its own. Before the intruder could say anything else, she drove her fist into his Adam’s apple. He grabbed for his throat, dropping the knife as he fell to his knees. She was about to drive her boot into his face when the butt of a sawed-off shotgun struck her across the side of the head.
She went down, the world spinning above her. There was a burst of sound, a roar and shout joining hands in shared outrage. Dusty rolled over into her stomach in time to watch Edward launch himself at the second man as he stepped into the bar. The tackle was a solid one, even if Edward was working with one good arm, and the two men disappeared through the doorway and back outside.
The man Dusty had attacked was already dragging himself to his feet. There was murder in his eyes, which was fair, given the circumstances. She pulled herself up to her hands and knees, swaying and fighting back the urge to vomit. There was blood in one eye, but she could see what was happening well enough.
Dusty liked to think of herself as mild-mannered. Granted, this was not a sentiment shared by the rest of the Legion, but who the hell cared what they thought, anyway? When the first intruder lumbered over to her, wrapped an arm around her throat, and dragged her to her feet, she lamented that she hadn’t hit the fucker harder.
He pressed his mouth against the shell of her ear. “They told us you were free game as long as we killed the prick with you,” he snarled, his arm tightening until she was lifted off the ground. Dusty gripped his wrist as black spots danced in the sky above her. A party she wanted no part of.
“Time for a little payback, don’t cha’ think?”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Dusty wheezed, pulling her butterfly knife out of her back pocket and flipping it open one-handed, the motion so smooth and practiced she knew exactly when sweet Bess was out and ready to play. She drove the blade into the man’s thigh, twisting for good measure before jerking it free.
He fell back from her with a scream, stumbling over a bar stool, hitting the ground so hard even she flinched. Dusty considered going after him, but an outraged roar from outside hinted at bigger fish to fry.
With exacting care, she posted herself next to the open door and peered outside. Edward was surrounded by a semi-circle of bikers. None of them happened to be Legion. In fact, she wasn’t sure who they were, which meant they’d come from out of town. Were they trying to take over her territory? Wouldn’t be the first group to do so after Rat had been arrested.
Assholes .
“Listen, guys, I know this looks bad, but he did strike my lady friend.”
Lady friend? Dusty’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Then she glanced down; Edward had knocked the second biker unconscious, and her irritation ebbed a bit. That’s one fight I would have paid good money to see. Oh well.
“Statistically speaking,” Edward continued, “White-on-White crime is the leading cause of death for Caucasians.”
Dusty hummed in agreement as she cleaned her butterfly knife.
“I, for one, know our people can do better. What was your name? K-Killian?”
“Killer,” came the gruff reply.
Edward made a sound that would have been considered a squeak from someone fifty pounds lighter. “Right. Of course it is. That’s a fine name. My point, Mr. Killer, is we can do better than perpetuate harmful stereotypes. Aren’t we all better than that?”
A beat of silence followed, as if they were considering the question.
Then, “No.”
Moron. Dusty was sitting with her back against the door frame, her gaze trained on the unconscious asshole tangled up in the bar stools. The parking lot was quiet, but for Edward’s rambling. If his goal was to buy himself some time, he was doing a fantastic job. That no one had stormed the bar yet to see what had become of their enforcer was an indication of that. Still, a minute had passed and soon people would begin wondering what the hell was going on in here. The gang was so focused on Edward’s bullshit, Dusty had been forgotten. She would have been offended if she hadn’t caught a glimpse of them. Their bikes were idling behind them, a gentle purr belying the violence about to take place. More than a dozen headlights were aimed right at the front door, blinding Dusty to how many people there were, but it was at least fifty. None of them were wearing a club jacket, though, so there was no insignia or patch to identify them. Intentional, no doubt.
Each and every one of them was armed to the teeth. Crowbars, knives, and a baseball bat with nails decorating the length of the wood. Guns might have been more efficient, but they weren’t far from the police department, and there was only so much the cops in this town would ignore. A gunfight across the street from the studio where local housewives went to do Pilates on Wednesdays and Fridays was not on the list.
For a split-second, she considered leaving Edward to the sweet, tender mercies of the rival gang. She could make a quiet getaway and be done with E.M. Hayes, nothing more than a fond memory she rubbed one out to when times got tough. She could pretend the guy had never darkened her doorstep. She let herself imagine it for a bit and was surprised to realize she would miss his company.
Strange .
Dusty unzipped her duffle bag, doing her best to stay quiet. The smell of gas was becoming…concerning, and she had another five minutes to get the fuck out of there before everything went to shit. Pulling her prized possession out of the duffle bag, she hiked it up onto her shoulder. Ape would have a field day when he found out she’d used it without him, but it couldn’t be helped. Taking a deep breath, she stepped fully into the doorway and whistled.
Edward stopped mid-panicked explanation and turned to look at her. So did everyone else. Eyes widened as they fixed on her, and a sweet thrill filled her veins.
“Oh, Pretty Boy?” she crooned as if they were standing on the set of Dirty Dancing . She wondered which one of them was Baby and which was Johnny. Edward’s eyes filled with panic, and a lock of curly blond hair fell across his brow and she shook her head. Never mind. She was pretty sure she knew the answer.
“Come here, Pretty Boy,” she ordered with a grin.
Edward, Lord bless him, didn’t hesitate. He ran toward her, full tilt, leaping over his downed opponent and sliding into the bar as if it were the home plate at a little league baseball game. The bikers scattered, but it was too little, too late.
Dusty fired, and the rocket launcher bucked in her grip, bruising her palms as the shell spiraled through the air to collide with the line of motorcycles. The resulting explosion was a thing of beauty, shaking the ground beneath her feet. She stared at the plume of fire and smoke arching toward the air as bits of metal—and the occasional biker—fell back down and scattered across the parking lot like dandelion seeds. She wasn’t sure how long she would have stood there, cast in the warmth of the destruction, had Edward not grabbed her around the waist and took off with her toward the back door.
Shit, he was fast. Still holding the launcher, she scanned the floor for the duffle bag. There it was, still by the front door. She kicked free of Edward with a curse.
“Are you fucking insane?” he barked.
“I’m sorry,” she snapped, skidding back the way they’d come. “You pronounced, ‘thank you for saving my ass,’ wrong.” Tossing the strap of the bag over her head, she slid the launcher back in amongst her other goodies, just as an irate biker ran into the bar after them.
Dusty was still crouched by the door when he came in, so he sailed right past her, his eyes all for Edward. The tech guru dodged the fist headed toward his face, ducked under the second strike, and hit the much wider man once in the stomach and again in the chest before a right hook knocked him clean out.
It had taken less than thirty seconds for the guy on the floor to join his brethren by the bar stools.
“Okay,” she purred in appreciation. Then she pulled out her butterfly knife and drove it into the throat of the next biker coming through the door without turning to look at him. Heavy-footed assholes, the lot of them. “I see you, White Jet Li. Crouching Caucasian up in here.”
Edward shook his head in adamant denial. “Can we stick to Pretty Boy? Please?”
Laughing, Dusty jogged toward him and grabbed his hand. “Gotcha. Let’s go.” The wrapping around his arm was bleeding again. He didn’t seem to notice, so she didn’t bother pointing it out.
The smell of gas was almost overpowering, and Edward’s nose twitched, his expression grim. The two of them darted past the rows of pool tables, as more bikers flooded the bar. They made it outside, just as another member of the rival gang was reaching for Dusty’s hair. She slammed the heavy metal door shut on his hand, until he plucked it back with a howl.
“Hold that, will you?” She left Edward to barricade the door, as more bikers began trying to strongarm it from the other side. Reaching for some broken rebar next to the dumpster, she slid it through the door handle and stepped back. “That should hold them.”
Edward stepped back; his every movement screaming doubt. “For how long?”
“Long enough.” Dusty turned and jogged down the alleyway.
They needed a car, fast. Thanks to the raid, she’d left her bike parked outside of Poppy’s place. These guys probably knew what Roxanne looked like, so maybe it was for the best. A biker was described by their bike, especially when helmets added an air of anonymity to anyone on two wheels. Unfortunately, Dusty never wore a helmet since she couldn’t find one roomy enough on the inside to fit over her braids. And besides her jacket, which wasn’t anything like the patched jackets the rest of the group wore, there was no way for an outsider to know who she was or what group she belonged to just by looking. Which worked out great when she was trying to be incognito. But these guys knew they were dealing with a Black woman now, so whatever safety anonymity had offered was shattered now.
Dusty and Edward abandoned the alley to turn left onto the main road. A Dunkin Donuts a block away was just close enough to be a temptation to the Pilates crew and late-night drunks. Dusty could see the glowing sign through the fog saturating the air. She limped toward it, every inch of her aching after the long night. From what she could see of Edward, he was fairing little better, and her jaw tightened as she fought back a wave of guilt.
Another explosion echoed through the night, and they both watched fire arc toward the sky. Dusty cupped her hands around her mouth and whooped. Damn, she loved insurance fraud. By far the most fun she’d had this week. When you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. Rat had taught her that.
“Take that, you fuckers,” she grinned, ignoring the way Edward stared down at her in open-mouthed disbelief.
He must have known a reprimand would land on deaf ears because he just shook his head as they fled the scene of the crime. The flash of lights and sharp cry of sirens pierced the air from across the street as firetrucks and police cars flooded the road. From where they sat, on the curb outside Dunkin, they could see the flames rising from the bar combating with the flashing blue and red lights of police cruisers. Cops and firemen swarmed the block. A long line of men in uniform. Dusty wasn’t a fan of civil servants—for obvious reasons—but this season’s crop had a lot going for them.
“God, I would let that one spit in my mouth,” she muttered beneath her breath, reaching for the box of doughnuts she’d convinced Edward to buy as soon as the first cop car careened around the corner. It had been a long day, and she hadn’t eaten, but they needed to stick around a bit longer to figure out how many had survived the initial blast.
One firefighter in particular stood head and shoulders above the rest. His brown hair was cut low, and his dark skin reflected the flames. He was built more like a linebacker than a firefighter. “Love to slide down that pole,” she quipped, for lack of anything better to say.
Instead of outrage or embarrassment, Edward sighed wistfully.
The sound was impossible to miss, and Dusty’s head whipped around, doughnut half in her mouth, to stare at him. Flushed a dark red, Edward stared straight ahead as a slow grin spread across her face.
“So that’s your type, huh?” She nodded to herself. “Good to know.”
“I’m not gay!” There was fear in him, hiding alongside the embarrassment - a parasite nestled close and draining him dry. “I mean…I…”
“Calm down, darlin’.” Dusty pulled a piece of her cinnamon twist free and stuffed it in Edward’s mouth before he could protest. “Nobody’s judging. You like what you like.”
Choking down the doughnut in the issuing silence, Edward reached for another. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who thinks so.” He spoke around a full mouth.
“Somebody been giving you a hard time for liking men?” Shit. Shit. Shit. She shouldn’t care, but she did.
“My dad,” he began, his words slow and careful, “has very strong ideas about what it means to be a real man. Being bisexual is not something a real man would do.”
Dusty was confused. “So? Why the fuck should you care what he thinks?”
Edward blinked in surprise. “You don’t care what your dad thinks about you?”
“Why would I?” Dusty asked, she laughed in derision. “Prick’s in jail. I don’t take life advice from people I wouldn’t switch places with.” Edward pulled out the last doughnut and took a bite, and Dusty wondered if she should bitch slap it out of his mouth or just shoot him again.
Seeing her sudden interest, he shoved as much of it in his mouth as possible, chewing so fast Dusty thought he’d choke on it.
She glared.
“Shawee,” he shrugged, mouth still full. He swallowed audibly, throat working and tendons in his neck straining. “I was hungry, so—”
Before he could finish, Dusty reached out and grabbed his hand. Pulling it close, she ran her tongue up the length of his sticky fingers before slipping the frosting-covered tip into her mouth. She sucked him clean, eyes locked with his while desire flared like a supernova in her middle. She told herself it was because she liked to tease. Which was the truth. But more than anything, she did it because it’d been too long since last she touched him, and every contact between them demanded more. And more. And more.
Edward went still. No fidgeting, no darting eyes, no hesitation. Just an answering hunger that tightened the muscles in his body and brought an eager growl rumbling up from somewhere deep within him.
He tasted sweet, of course, but beneath was something indescribable. Something dark and clean, despite the layer of smoke, and dirt, and blood coating him. Dusty wondered if he’d ever been fucked while the sun rose. If he’d ever cum on bare skin while storms raged and lightning struck. She wanted him inside her while the world unraveled around them, and the realization left her on uncertain ground. She needed to take back control. Now.
“Sorry,” Dusty teased, grinning. “I was hungry.”
Edward’s amber eyes darkened, and Dusty’s heart leapt. She knew she was teasing a caged animal, tugging at a golden tiger’s tail through bars worn with age. She wondered what it would take for him to lose his veneer of control.
Not much
Dusty went to pull away, but quick as lightning, Edward gripped her by the wrist; the glaze from the donuts leaving their skin sticky. Her mind went back to the tunnels, and she shivered. They couldn’t do this. She was using him, and he didn’t even know it. Edward had asked her to keep him safe, but so far, he’d been placed in more danger. If she cared about him at all, she’d send him to Ape or even Diesel. Send him to a safe house for a few months until the heat died down. That, or ditch him in the desert somewhere for his rich friends to find. That would be the easiest thing to do. Afterward, she’d go on her merry way with nothing to show from their time together except a stolen flash drive and the knowledge she’d betrayed a man who didn’t deserve it.
Her mind rejected the idea almost as soon as it formed. She couldn’t let him go. She wouldn’t. Dusty’s heart did a weird squeezing thing she didn’t at all like. Let him go? He wasn’t hers to keep. If she wasn’t careful, if she wasn’t smart, this thing between them could end up costing her everything.
First chance I get, I’m dumping him at Rudy’s and calling Ape.
“Hayes,” she said, a gentle reminder for her own sake.
It brought him out of the moment like a slap to the face. He dropped her hand and shook his head. His gaze darted away, once again unsure, and regret soured the pleasure drugging her senses.
“I-I’m sorry. I…I, um…I’m going to get some napkins. You want anything?”
He didn’t see her shake her head because he wouldn’t look at her. He disappeared inside the Dunkin Doughnuts again, and Dusty pressed her face into her hands.
What is this?
Most emotions were unfamiliar to her, but this one was bizarre. It tasted like burning tires on the back of her tongue. Sat like a weight on her chest. Was this guilt? Shame? Attraction she comprehended, but now there was something else going on. Something more complex. Something dangerous and stinking of Edward Hayes.