Page 87 of Prodigal Son

“Charlie’s on his way back now with two of the Emerald boys.” Ammo, as many magazines as he could reasonably carry in the inner pockets of his jacket, and more for the duffel he’d carry, along with a broken-down rifle and a sawed-off shotgun. “Phil called Walsh – not that he can do anything from all the way in America. But. I dunno. We’ll decide something here soon. It feels wrong to sit still.”

“Yeah. I get that. You could always get drunk.” A quiet, forced sort of teasing.

He snorted as he dug out a suppressor. He’d expected better of Raven…but he didn’t blame her. And that wasn’t even the truth – he tended to expect people to do things the way he did, and people kept reminding him, over and over, that his approach wasn’t necessarily normal.

“Albie,” she said, soft, and he paused, hands splayed over the magazines that cluttered the countertop. “I’m sorry.”

He turned to her, and found her face full of sympathy.

“What are you sorry for?” It came out much more softly than he’d intended; they stood closer than he’d thought, shoulders almost touching. Close enough to see the faint tremble at the corner of her mouth.

“Notfor anything I’ve done,” she said. “Just to clarify. I haven’t done anything.” Quick, wry grin. Then a sobering. “Just. I’m sorry about your sister. About what’s happening to your family. I might not have any love for the Dogs in general, but…you guys are alright. And this is shitty. So.” She shrugged.

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

A tentative smile from her; tiny, but it touched her eyes, warmed them.

He wanted…

In that moment, trying to suppress his exhaustion, wired, and worried, and holding panic at bay by the skin of his teeth, he allowed himself to just…want. Allowed himself to put a face to that warm, fuzzy-edged fantasy of his flat, made bright and welcoming with the affection, the laughter, the presence of someone who cared about him. He shaped that ephemeral dream around here, for that moment; golden hair tied up in a loose bun, soft curve of the back of her neck as she bent over the counter, giggling, wine threatening to spill out of her glass; eyes crinkled up, smile wide, beaming, aimed straight at him. Softness of a sweater beneath his hands, inward dip of a waist, warmth of a body pressed to his. Sweet kiss, wine-flavored.Welcome home.I love you.

I love youwas the most illicit fantasy of all, a whisper in the back of his head; taunting, impossible.

Right now, it was her he envisioned. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known her long – he thought he knew her. Angry girl, tough girl, beautiful girl. Capable, and dangerous, and just the right height for him to hook his chin on her shoulder and kiss her neck, and…

Shit.

But hewanted.

He gave himself that moment, to let everything melt away, and to fantasize, and to yearn, and to mourn the fact that he probably wouldn’t ever have the chance to know someone like her in an intimate way.

Her lashes flickered, and she wet her lips – nervous – but she didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned in. A fraction…and then another. “What?” she asked, and her gaze dropped to his mouth, and stayed there.

He felt cracked open. It was stress – stress and too many years shoving down what he really wanted. Looking after his family, his club, not looking after himself, not…

“Albie,” she said again, and it wasn’t a question. A flush rose in her cheeks; she was testing out his name – tasting it.

“I thought you hated all Lean Dogs,” he said. He felt breathless, but his voice sounded flat.

“I…might be willing to say that I rushed to judgement.”

“No, you didn’t. We’re awful.”

“You’re illegal. That doesn’t mean awful.”

“Ax–”

She pressed a finger to his lips, fast and sudden. If he hadn’t just been thinking of her softly, he would have reacted, startled and violent.

She said, “Let me just…try something…” And she leaned in that last bit and kissed him.

It was quick, and then slow. Lingering. Just a press, lips to lips, nothing daring, or wet. But it struck a match to his nerves, and, suddenly, he was shaking.

Soft mouth, sweeter than expected – a secret sweetness, one she hid behind her expert skill behind the wheel, and a huge grudge, and a sizable attitude. But none of that mattered now. It was just them, and this strange tension that had been fizzling since that first moment he’d opened the back door of his shop and Charlie had come charging in, a band of unlikely misfits in tow.

He let her lead. All she did was hold there, and he felt her shaking, too.

Slowly, slowly, carefully, he reached up and put his hands on her waist. Right in the curve, right where it was socially acceptable. An easy touch; she could have broken away if she’d wanted.

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