“What will you do with the girl?” Ian asked.
“Find out where she belongs.”
The Englishman nodded. “I tried to call in my favor with your father, you know. The one he owes me.” His tone was eerily conversational. “I told him to release Kevin from the club.”
“Huh,” Aidan said, a cold knot forming in his belly.
Ian’s eyes flicked over. “I won’t insist on it. No. But I want your word that if he wants to leave, you’ll let him.”
“He won’t want to leave.”
“He might.”
Aidan gritted his teeth. It wasn’t such a far-fetched idea, Kev wanting out of the club. In his heart, he wasn’t much of an outlaw. He wasn’t the sort of guy who lived for the thrill of it. But he loved them all, Aidan was sure. Needed their fraternal support.
“You have my word,” he ground out. “There, you happy?”
“No.” Ian shoved away from the wall. “That’s the thing, darling. I’ll never be happy.” And he melted away into the darkness.
Aidan closed the window and slipped out of the room without making a sound. Sam was waiting for him, sitting up in their makeshift bed, sipping a glass of something that didn’t look her speed.
“Your dad said bourbon would help with the nervous shakes.” She extended a steady hand for him to inspect. “He wasn’t wrong.”
Aidan plucked the glass from her grasp, drained it in a fast gulp, and climbed in beside her. “You gonna turn into a hardcore liquor drinker now?” he teased, but his voice fell flat.
“I might.” Her voice was flat too.
They stared at one another a moment; he searched her face and felt her doing the same to him.
Then he put both arms around her and pulled her into his chest. “Let’s get some sleep, okay?”
“Yeah.”
Thirty-Eight
It was delicate business, coming into the house at three-thirty in the morning. He had to be quiet enough not to wake the baby, but loud enough not to scare the living hell out of Holly. After he’d locked the door behind him, Michael went straight to the washing machine, stripped off everything he was wearing and started a load with an extra capful of detergent. He couldn’t stand the idea of staying in blood-flecked clothes a second longer.
The lights were off in the bedroom, but he saw that Holly was awake, her silhouette a darker shadow backlit by the soft ambient light from the window.
“You’re home,” she said, voice full of relief.
“Yeah. I gotta take a shower, baby.”
Of the many improvements Holly had made to his bachelor pad, the bathroom was probably his favorite. It was the same old utilitarian plumbing and fixtures, but she’d painted the walls a warm suede color and bought a whole set of new cream towels that matched the also-new shower curtain. Scented candles, a potted plant, luxurious soaps that, for reasons unknown to him, hadcoffee beansin them.
“It’s like some kinda spa,” he’d told her, nose wrinkled.
“I know,” she’d said, smiling. “Isn’t it nice?”
Truth be told, it was nice, and as he stepped under the hot water and reached for some of her ridiculous coffee bean soap, it felt like Holly was there alongside him, her warmth and light wrapping around him, more soothing than the water and steam. His hands were steady as he washed, his nervous reaction to the night firmly in check.
The lights were on when he left the bathroom, naked save the towel around his hips. Holly was waiting for him, her expression evidencing relief as her big green eyes tracked across him and found him uninjured and whole.
Her gaze came to his face. “Is everyone else okay?”
“Yeah. Tango’s back. Everybody’s good.”
Her lips twitched, like maybe she wanted to ask for a better summary than that. But then she opened her arms. “Come here.”
