Page 4 of Rough Return

She pretended to think on it because her heart in her throat wouldn’t let sound or breath escape around it. She exhaled slowly. “I guess I would immediately tell the driver to turn around and take you straight back to the airport. Of course.”

He smiled, that damned finger still drawing little circles on her arm. “Sarcasm?”

“What do you think?” She yanked her wrist away as the car pulled in front of Max’s house. If only Grier knew how long and often she’d wished for him to say something like that in his soft, husky voice, he wouldn’t have teased her. Probably he was just toying with her, trying to save his own pathetic ass from the beatdown he deserved.

Simple bastard.

And while she hadn’t really worked out much of a plan beyond keeping him alive, she’d let him cool his heels for a while, wonder what sorts of torture his future, the one she’d made sure he had, would bring.

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would do for now.

* * *

Grier had been to the house where Fiona grew up several times. Back then, the siding had been white and the shutters black, and the porch surrounded by landscaping Grier had spent many an hour weeding.

Sometime in the last two years, the siding had been replaced with light brick, and the shutters by fancy white trim. Shrubbery and stone steps took the place of the porch where Fiona had tried to kiss him when she was fifteen and he was twenty-one.

“Place has changed.”

“A lot’s changed since you turned traitor.” She stomped up the steps ahead of him.

“Fiona, wait.” He held onto her arm figuring she would pull away, but she stood, skin warm under his hand, pulse point in her throat quietly throbbing. He needed to get his brain out of his pants. Warm skin and throbbing hearts weren’t nearly as important as making her understand. “Kye was the only family I ever had.” She would never agree to help him escape, if an opportunity even presented itself, unless he could make her see why he’d risked everything to help Kye. “You had Max. You were always someone’s everything. Kye and I grew up without anyone in a system that didn’t give a shit. This club is about loyalty and having each other’s backs, but when your dad put out that hit on Kye, no one spoke up. They just followed because it was Max. And you know he wasn’t playing straight about Kye. Or Eliana.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort.” But her eyes betrayed her words. And Grier had hope.

“Kye needed me. And I would do it again.” She didn’t blink, but she didn’t move when he transferred his hand from her arm to cup her cheek. “I would’ve done the same thing for you.”

This was his last chance to convince her, to swing her around to his side if that was even possible. He leaned in, close enough to see every fleck of silver in her gray eyes, to smell her perfume, to feel her slow breath on his lips. She jerked away, and his stomach lurched. He’d over-estimated her attraction to him. Two years ago, one crook of his finger would have brought her running. Now all she could do was glare.

He sighed. “Take me in.”

She opened her mouth, slapped it shut, and turned to lead him through the front door. And while the outside of the house had changed, the living room wasn’t even recognizable. A hospital bed blockaded the stone fireplace. Tables and lamps, family memorabilia and bric-a-brac had been taken away in favor of monitors and machines, medicine bottles and a woman whose short white skirt said she was either a nurse subject to a dress-code likely demanded by Max, or she was an on-call stripper who happened to know how to stick someone with an IV needle. Pictures of Fiona, a documentation of her school life from kindergarten through high school, still hung on the wall along with a big-screen TV.

Hamilton moved from his spot in the corner. Oh, shit.

In the last two years, the already formidable man at arms had packed on the muscle, and obviously not upped his shirt size. Bulges and ripples strained against the tight black fabric. His step quickened.

This was going to be bad, but fuck if he’d flinch. Or blink. Or beg for mercy.

He glanced at Fiona. One last look. Light cast a halo at the crown of her fiery red hair and if Max hadn’t groaned, Grier would have seen the fist coming for him. He would have ducked, blocked, maybe managed a side-step. What he wouldn’t have done was take that hit full on the jaw. He also wouldn’t have landed on his back next to the bed. And maybe not seen stars.

As Hamilton stood over him, Grier considered his options. Crawl away? Get up, and maybe by tomorrow be able to run. Or take it. Hamilton yanked him up, steadied Grier with one hand and doubled him over with another swing to his gut.

Grier’s breath whooshed out, and it took a few long seconds before he could catch another. “Fuck, Ham.” He coughed, sure that if he dared look, there would be blood.

A soft “That’s enough” followed by an even quieter “For now” came from the bed.

Grier struggled to straighten. Probably had a broken rib. He ignored his pain and focused on the man who’d once trusted him with his most prized possession, Fiona. Not so long ago, Max had been larger than life. Tough. Feared. Respected. Even revered. Now, his body had gone rogue, fighting itself from the inside so that the outside appeared frail and small.

Wires and tubes poked out from beneath the pile of blankets covering him, and a bag of piss that needed draining dangled from a tube clipped to the bedframe.

A tight pain ached in Grier’s chest, only in part due to Hamilton.

“Leave us.” Max pushed a button and the head of the bed raised him to a sitting position. He looked more like himself, stern, angry, ready to dole out orders. He looked past Grier to Hamilton. “Take her home.”

Hamilton nodded, but Fiona’s eyes narrowed. Grier might have asked her to stay - defying Max didn’t seem to be much of an issue now - but the side of his face throbbed. When he lifted his hand to touch his cheek, it came away sticky with blood.

Fiona stared at her father. “I’ll wait outside but I’m not leaving him here alone with you.” She pushed past Grier to stand next to her father’s bed. “I don’t trust the son of a bitch.”