Dirty Deals by Nicole James Page 0,48
the feelings I have for Rusty are strong, and I’m so conflicted.
I’m quiet too long, and he takes a long deep breath and shakes his head.
“Babe, you pretend to be afraid of nothing, but you’re so afraid of trusting me. Why?”
“I’ve been taken advantage of too many times. I swore to myself those days were done and that I could only count on myself. It’s hard for me to be any other way.”
“That’s what you think I’m doing, taking advantage of you? ‘Cause I thought we had a hell of a lot more.”
I shake my head. “We do. I’m sorry. It’s just… hard for me to trust.”
“Hot Rod, I’ll do anything for you, just don’t ask me to stand by and do nothing; that’s not who I am. I take control. I take charge. I fight, and I sure as hell don’t run.”
“I know that’s who you are, and I wouldn’t want you to be any different.”
“Do you know that? Because I’m not so sure that you do.”
I’ve pissed him off, and I know he has a right to be angry.
“Ashlynn, there was a day not so long ago in my MC that I did what I was told—I followed orders. Those days are done. I’m a leader now. I’m the president of an MC with a club full of men who look to me now to lead them. They trust me not to risk their lives, uncaring about the danger I put them in.”
“I know you do, Rusty.”
“I’m willing to go to the mat for you, Ashlynn, and to ask my club to do the same—for something that has nothing to do with them except for the fact their president has fallen for a woman in trouble and in need of protection. Maybe you don’t get the gravity of that, but if I’m going to be that man, I need to know that you trust me with all of it. If not, we’ve got a problem. Hell, if not, we’ve got nothing.”
I nod, tears falling down my cheeks. I dip my head to wipe at them. “Okay.”
“Tell me what happened to you, baby. Sometimes telling someone makes it easier to bear.”
I squeeze my eyes tight. “It was bad, Rusty.”
He moves to a low cabinet across the room and pulls out a bottle of Jameson and a shot glass. I frown. I didn’t even know he had liquor in here. He brings it to me and pours some.
“Here, babe. This’ll help.”
I down it in one gulp. He takes the glass and refills it, but I wave it away. He sets it on the desk.
I tell him the story, starting with my arrival at the penthouse right up until Devon loaded me into my car with my suitcase. He stays quiet throughout, letting me get through it without interruption. Then he picks up the shot, drains it, and slams it down on the desk.
I jump. My nerves are shot, and I’m not sure what he’s most angry about: what happened to me, or the fact I’ve drug his whole club into this.
He stands and paces, running both hands down his face. “Mafia. Jesus Christ, babe. I had no fucking clue.”
“And now that you do?”
He shakes his head. “What a fucking mess.” He pauses his pacing and looks at me like my question just now sinks in. He blinks, almost like I’ve asked a stupid question, like there’s only one solution. “Now we find those bastards and put ‘em in the ground.”
I let out a breath, and my shoulders slump. He’s at my side in a split-second, kneeling before my chair and lifting my chin again. “You really thought even for a second I was gonna hang you out to dry on this, babe?”
I shake my head, my eyes on my lap. “I don’t know what I thought. I’ve been terrified to tell you.” I look up at him. “I have no right to involve you in any of this. I know that. It’s not your problem. None of this is your problem, Rusty.”
“All of this is my problem now. And I’ll take that weight gladly, if for no other reason than it’s not on your shoulders anymore. You can rest easy; let me worry about it from here on out, understand?”
“But Rusty—”
“No buts. A man who puts a hand on what’s mine, never puts a hand on anything again.”
“Am I yours?”
“Aren’t you?”
I stand and so does he. I hug him tight. It’s answer enough, and his arms wrap around me. I