Page 89 of Savior
“I’m happy to see it. But I can’t take the credit. This was a team effort.”
“Mr. Modest.” I sigh. “What other ambitions do you have for the MC?”
“Why?” he grins crookedly at me, “You want to make a few more of my dreams come true?”
“If I can.”
Dean’s smile morphs into a more genuine expression. “Baby, you are my dream come true.”
“I’m asking about the MC. Stop trying to dodge the question.”
He laughs now, heartily. “So says the Queen of Evasion!”
I scowl at him, though playfully.
He lets out a sigh of his own before he answers my question. “A community of safehouses. Like a compound. A small, guarded development. Owned and operated by the MC. Where the women and children can feel safe enough to wander about the property, without fear. Maybe sit by a lake. Take fuckin’ yoga or even self-defense classes in a park. Whatever they want to do.”
“That’s beautiful, Dean.” Though, I can’t help but notice, there’s a sadness in his dark eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just not sure it’ll ever happen. That takes money we don’t have. Connections we don’t have. It’s a pipe dream, doll.”
“Well, what if we could find investors? I’m sure that-”
Dean’s entire body goes completely rigid, ceasing all movement, and a strained expression washes over his face.
I immediately realize, it’s because of the song that’s playing now… Rick Springfield’s, Jessie’s Girl…
Dean’s eyes are staring into mine, searchingly.
“It’s okay.” I whisper, attempting to soothe him. Placing my hand on his stubbled jaw, I cup his face. “It’s just a song, sweetheart… We’re okay.”
His pained eyes continue to stare into mine, and it’s evident how much torment he still carries inside, over everything that happened to us that night in the cabin. I slide my hands to the back of his neck, lacing my fingers together behind his head as I pull him down to me.
“Dean… it’s over.”
He closes his eyes, bowing to press his forehead to mine. After a moment, he whispers, “Is it?”
“You okay, Boss?” Rusty asks, suddenly by our side.
Dean straightens immediately. A mask of cool indifference, eclipsing his expression. His dark eyes slide to Rusty.
“It’s Dean… Sir… Or Prez.” He corrects him, with a level of sternness in his tone he seems to reserve for the prospects. “I’m not your Boss.”
“Sorry, Sir.” Rusty places his hands on his hips, standing before us awkwardly now. “Can I do something for you?”
“You can walk away.” Dean mutters.
Rusty walks off without another word. Dean watches him go, a look of suspicion in his narrowed eyes.
“What was that about?”
“He’s never called me Boss, before.”
“Is that not an MC thing?” I ask, thinking back on my only other experience around an MC that wasn’t the Saviors or the JoCo Jokers. Legion’s men had called him Boss.
“Not in ours.”
“Maybe he just meant it casually? Boss. Bro. Buddy?” I shrug.
