Page 129 of Long Way Down

“Anatoly,” he said, in a godawful impersonation of an accent she couldn’t identify. Then: “He’s Russian. Very” – he screwed his face up into an over-the-top scowl that left her snorting a laugh and taking another sip. “Joyless. The man’s absolutely joyless. Good with a knife, though.”

His expression fell. Oops, it seemed to say, and he pressed his lips together. “Um…” Afraid he’d said too much. Afraid to talk about his club brothers – because she was a cop? Or because she was…her?

Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d ever shown an interest.

She took another sip – bubbles up her nose, uplifting sharpness of the lime – and said, “I never really understood why y’all’s clubhouse isn’t here in the city, where all the action is. Why are you here by yourself and everyone else is in Albany?” It struck her as terribly lonely, suddenly, now that she thought of it. He had some friends, she guessed – Kat, for instance – and had the sort of magnetic aura that allowed him to strike up a conversation with anyone and gain a new friend, at least for the moment. But he had no one around him he could really trust; no club brothers to laugh, and joke, and drink with after a long, hard day of…whatever it was he did. She didn’t know. Had never known. His day-to-day life was an utter mystery to her, and she’d always been fine with that – had preferred it, in place of intimacy.

It was intolerable, now, after the day and night she’d had.

He studied her face a moment, before he answered, his own caught still in caution. Whatever he saw there had him sinking against the back of the couch, head turned toward her, and he said, “It’s about tradition.”

She lifted her brows, a genuine effort in her current state. The next sip of her drink shaved the sharp edge off the mounting pain in her temple. “Leaving a man all alone in the big city is tradition?”

He made a face. “Aw, c’mon now, don’t say it likethat. I’m not ‘all alone.’ The guys come through here a lot. Toly’s been staying ‘cause he’s” – the dreaded accent attempt returned – “on assignment, though if you asked me, getting to sit around with models all day isn’t exactlywork, you know?”

Before she could decide how she felt about his views on “getting to sit around with models,” he continued. “No, but. The chapter was founded in Albany, and even after it got bigger, it made sense to keep it there. Way fewer eyes on us; the locals know us and like us. Plus it’s always nice to be the big fish, you know?”

“Your president doesn’t want to move it, though? Into town, I mean.”

“Nah. He’s not really a city guy. Besides: he’d need a full vote from all of us – which isn’t gonna happen, not with most of the guys having families upstate – and then we’d have to get permission from the mother chapter president.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing. I mean, technically, the club was first founded in London, so that’s the real mother chapter – but Knoxville was the first US chapter, so it plays mama for every chapter in the States, and London’s the boss for all the European chapters.”

“Allthe European chapters?”

“Yeah. There’s a lot.”

“Damn.” She’d known the club was a big deal; that law enforcement cursed them and blamed them for things they likely hadn’t done; an uncatchable boogeyman.If only the Lean Dogs went down, was the lament.If only we could get them off the streets.There weren’t enough Lean Dogs the world over to account for the ugliness in it, not even enough to account for the ugliness she’d seen working her beat in Manhattan. But there were a lot more Dogs than she’d originally thought.

“Yeah.” He regarded his drink. “It’s pretty cool to look back at the history of it and see how it’s grown. It was, like, five guys standing in a field, still all beat up from the war – World War II,” he said in an aside. “And they decided if polite society didn’t want them back after the war machine chewed them to pieces, then they’d found their own society. Nothing but two wheels and open sky.” He snorted, gaze returning to her. “Somewhere along the way, it got a lot more complicated than that.”

“I’ll say.”

“Most things do, though. Get complicated.” His gaze rested on her mouth, a moment, and she didn’t breathe until he glanced away, out across the room that still smelled faintly of socks. A smile touched his lips. “I kinda always wanted to see it in person, that field. Out in the middle of nowhere, in the English countryside somewhere. There’s a crossroad. Perfect ninety-degree angles. That was what made them go with Lean Dogs: the old hellhound, crossroads legends.”

She found that she was fascinated. By his story, because she hadn’t known any of that. And by the hint of a dimple in his cheek, and the wistful turn of his voice: that longing for something he’d never seen and didn’t know from experience.

She wanted him to kiss her.

She had wanted that every time she got stressed, or the world pressed in a little too tightly. She’d fallen into a pattern upon meeting him. First came the spark of anger, then the exasperation…and then she wanted his mouth on hers, even if she had to initiate things, though he never said no.

It was easier to focus her temper on Pongo than on all the things she couldn’t control. Better to degrade him and tell herself she had shit taste in men than acknowledge she felt anything for him. Better to fuck than to fight – or to actually talk about anything substantial.

She wanted that now. A sharp spike of lust, almost painful. But when she thought of the mechanics of it: spearing her fingers through his hair and pulling him down to her, the weight of his body settling between her thighs, the teasing touches that led to pawing at clothes and the inevitable, almost violent slap and grind of his hips into hers…exhaustion made it all seem impossible.

She was tired, in body and in mind. Hersoulwas tired.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she wasn’t fast enough turning away.

“Hey,” he said, so soft and worried that it proved to be the final straw. She cracked.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured, arms closing strong around her and pulling her across the cushions to sit tucked within the shelter of his embrace. She felt the heat of his skin as he pressed his face into the top of her head; his breath stirred her hair. “It’s alright.” He rubbed her upper arms and held tight in the first, fleeting moment when she tried to resist. It wasn’t possible, though, not when she needed this so badly. And so she collapsed in on herself, sobs backed up in her throat so she couldn’t even cry properly, could only panic and hyperventilate silently, tears pouring down her face.

“It’s alright,” he repeated, low and soothing, like a parent trying to settle an unhappy child. Like her own parents had never done, not even when she told them the horrible secret she’d been keeping. “It’s alright, I got you. Let it out.”

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