Page 29 of The Lies We Tell
SAINT
Isee the sadness in Briar’s eyes.
Rose’s eyes.
Shit, I like Briar better. No, Rose suits her.
Fuck.
Whichever name ... I want to make this right.
“You got cleaning supplies?” I ask.
“Yes. Why?”
“We’re gonna clean this place up. Pull your supplies together; I’m going to start on your lock.”
“My what?” Briar asks, looking up at me. I like the way she fits beneath my arm. I’m a solid six three, and she’s not short either, but we fit just right. Fit better than I probably should be thinking about. The hug we shared on the bench outside last night was the first real affection I’ve received in a while. I’d like to believe that was all it was, not that I liked her hands on me and spent most of the night thinking about what her lips would feel like against mine.
I let go of her before I can act on those thoughts and return with my bag. I unzip it and show her. “Window locks, new front door lock, dead bolt, and a security camera.”
I told Vex I needed them for a veteran friend whose house had been broken in to. Because he’s a good guy and my brother, he offered them right up for free, even when I offered to pay. Said it was on the club. He also offered to come help, but I told him I could do it.
“You got all this for me?” Briar asks, running her hands over the locks like I gave her fucking diamonds.
“I did.” I take off my sweater, place it on a hook by the door with my holster and gun. There’s a two-tiered rack below with ten pairs of shoes in different colors. Guess she really is a shoe girl.
“How much do I owe you? I might need to pay you back in two payments if that’s okay with you.”
I think about the money I used. The last brown envelope of cash King gave me contained twenty grand. I’m gonna tell Weicker it was ten. I’ve often wondered about all the money and weapons and explosives the ATF seizes. They say the Asset Forfeiture Program means items get auctioned or sold, and a chunk of the money goes back to the victims of crime. It’s easy to justify my actions. This way, I’m simply bypassing the program and giving it straight to Briar.
“You don’t owe me a cent, sweetheart. It’s what friends do. Like how you tidied my garden for me. Let’s get on with it.”
For a moment, I think about all the help I’d be able to call in if I were really a member of the Iron Outlaws. I could call Gwen and the old ladies. They’d clean up within the hour and offer Briar a female kind of comfort I can’t provide.
I could take Vex up on his offer of help. Because while I’m half decent at this shit, Vex is a pro. He might see security risks I hadn’t even thought of.
I consider calling Spark. He’s the one I’m closest to, and I wonder if I could trust him knowing about Briar. He was there when we found her. Hell, if Spark saw me around Briar, he might even read between the lines and see the truth I’m not willing to accept. That I have feelings for her, even if I can never act on them. When the shit hits the fan—which it will because I’m not staying undercover in the club forever—I know he’ll be torn between doing the right thing by standing with the club and looking out for me to save another life. The man already carries too many burdens in that head of his. There’s no way in hell I’m going to add to it. He’s been less open recently. More secretive. Like King, I have a suspicion it’s to do with Iris.
And then I remember why I can’t call anyone. Because the club will be ruthless if they ever find out how I came to be one of them. Then, if they saw me with Briar, if they knew where she lived, if they even suspected the feelings I’m catching for her, they’d come find her to get to me.
Which is why no matter how tempting Briar is, I need to keep my distance to avoid hurting her more than she has been. I’ve already told her more than I should. Riding the last dregs of sleep, I told her I was a bomb disposal expert. Not an army chaplain. My lock-tight ability to not trip up undercover is being tested by this woman.
I shake the thoughts from my head and start the process of fixing her door.
“Good news. They didn’t take my work tools,” she says, coming out of the bedroom with a laptop and tablet in her hand.
I rip the new lock from its packaging. “That doesn’t make sense. If they wanted to know information about you, that would’ve been the first thing they took.”
Briar places them on the table. “I hide them when I’m not home. Mrs. Mantle told me there was a break-in down the hall a few weeks before I moved in, using the fire escape and an open hallway window. They broke into the end apartment. Took some bills from a wallet and an old laptop. I’ve been paranoid ever since. I have a false bottom for one of my drawers and hide my expensive things there. I’ve always taken such good care of my things, especially things that are expensive or hard to replace. It seemed silly to keep doing it but—” She blows out a breath, and I notice the way her lips purse and her shoulders drop. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I put the lock down and walk to her, then hold her biceps gently as she hugs her electronics to her chest. “It’s not silly. Taking care of your belongings is important. Sends a message to the universe that you look after the things that are important to you. And the things you’re not saying ... the things that have got anxiety coursing through you right now, they are okay too.”
She looks up at me with those wide brown eyes of hers. “What am I not saying?” The words come out on a broken whisper.
“That you take such good care of your things normally, but you feel like you didn’t take good care of yourself.”
Tears fill her lower lashes. “I know every single thing about street safety, Saint. I’m a woman. I know to not walk dark streets late at night, to keep my keys handy in my hand in case I need them. I even have a rape alarm. But everything happened so fast, and it was someone I thought I knew. How do you live in the world knowing that you can do everything in your power to be safe, and yet horrific things can happen to you anyway?”
