I smiled into the pillow.

“Rhodes,” I whispered.

He pulled me closer.

“Sleep, Rebel.”

“’Night, Rush.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

I closed my eyes and, held to the warmth of Rush in all the ways he gave that to me after the single best night of my entire life, I fell asleep.

Balance

Rebel

The next morning, Rush and I walked into the parlor at Essence’s.

And there we saw a burly man with dark hair and glasses sitting in a chair with a cat on his lap, one on the arm of his chair, one batting at a stray thread at the ragged hem of his jeans and one on the back of the chair, paws at his shoulder, kneading his tee.

“Yo, Roscoe,” Rush greeted.

“Yo,” the brother called Roscoe I had not yet seen replied, then his eyes came to me, before they dropped to my legs.

Even though we spent most of the night talking and fucking, we had to get up early so I could get to my place to scan and email my notes to Meryl and Rush could get on with his day, which might possibly include kidnapping his mother if she didn’t reply soon to the second voicemail he’d left her that morning.

So I’d had a shower. Blew out my hair. And with the way things were going, I’d carefully selected an outfit.

A short, faded-out, tight, black jean skirt. A sloppy plaid shirt over a Ramones tee. A fall of chains and pendants, short and long, at my neck. Hair down and messy. Big hoops in my ears that could be seen through the strands. High-heeled bootie sandals, toes peeking out. Enough makeup, it kinda hid I had about two hours of sleep.

And red lipstick.

It might seem OTT, but a smart girl only got caught out once, and I liked to think I was smart (most of the time), so that shit was not happening to me again.

“Yo,” Rush barked, and him repeating that, but mostly how he did, had me jumping and turning my head to look at him.

My biker did not look super pleased.

“Wanna scrape your eyes off my woman’s legs before I do it for you?” he rumbled his non-suggestion.

Hmm . . .

Interesting.

So he didn’t mind me thinking his brothers were hot.

But he did mind one of them looking at my legs.

Before I met Rush, if someone had asked me philosophically how I’d feel about being involved with an alpha possessive guy, in all honesty, I’d have said it was A-OK with me. I mean, if he didn’t take it to the limit, how sexy was that?

Now that I had indication I had that, it would seem I’d been correct in my opinion.

“Dude, she has good legs,” Roscoe replied.

“I know,” Rush bit out.

“Well, I got eyes, I can’t not see them,” Roscoe returned.

“You can not stare at them, or I’ll dig those eyes out and shove them down your throat,” Rush retorted.

Right.

That was taking it to the limit.

So I was also wrong in my opinion.

It was still sexy.

“Where’s Boz?” I butted in so they didn’t come to blows.

“He’s allergic to macramé . . . and cats,” Roscoe said. “He was a mess. There isn’t enough Claritin in the country to sort his shit. So I took over.”

Ah.

Okay.

“Where’s Essence?” I asked.

“My guess. Sleepin’ it off,” Roscoe answered, and it was then I noticed his fingers were scratching the cat in his lap’s ruff.

How sweet.

His gaze swung to Rush. “Apparently they had a nonstop party.”

This did not make me happy.

However, I was impressed.

“Boz can party through a severe allergic reaction?” I asked.

“Boz could party through Armageddon,” Roscoe told me and again looked to Rush. “I got her. And chill. Not gonna make no moves, brother. Yeesh.”

Bikers said “yeesh?”

I didn’t get a chance to ask.

Rush was issuing orders.

“I gotta go. Rebel’s gotta go to her place and do some shit on her computer. You’re walkin’ over there with her.” Roscoe started to get up, but Rush muttered, “Give us a minute to say goodbye.”

Roscoe nodded and settled back into his impression of a biker Bond villain.

Rush took my hand and led me to the front door.

Then he took my body in his arms, tight to his, and kissed me.

He used that full minute he told Roscoe he had, and then some.

Nice.

“If I can’t swing around for lunch or something, I’ll be back around five thirty to pick you up for dinner,” he said after he broke it off.

This worked for me. I could get a nap in and then have my whole wardrobe to select from to meet his sister that night.

“Cool,” I replied.

“You need anything, Roscoe’s on guard duty, not run duty. Get him to call Dutch, Jag or Chill.”

I nodded.

His arms around me got tighter.

“Last night was awesome,” he said quietly.

That’s right.

He just put that right out there.

I melted into him. “Yeah.”

His eyes fell to my mouth then his lips fell there, and we made out some more in Essence’s foyer.

All too soon, he broke it off, touched his lips to my cheekbone, gave me a squeeze and let me go.

After that, he took off.

I stared at the closed door, grinning like an idiot.

Then I went to the parlor to get Roscoe.

I had dinner with the little sister ahead of me and dark under my eyes.

Once I sent my notes, it was naptime.

Rush

Two hours later, Rush stood in the September sun next to Hop outside his mother’s work in Boulder and put the phone to his ear.

It rang.

It went to voicemail.

He disconnected.

Hit her contact again.

It rang.

Went to voicemail.

He made a noise in his throat, disconnected, and hit her contact again.

It went to voicemail two more times before she picked up, snapping, “What?”

“Mom, it’s Rush.”

“I know.”

That was when he stood in the September sun, taking in a deep breath, knowing she knew it was him calling after years of not speaking to him, not seeing him, and she answered the phone like that.

His father was the best father a man could have. Rush loved him. Respected him. They disagreed, and they disagreed about important shit. But Rush admired his dad, and he had no problem at all with people telling him he looked like his father, and also acted like him.

The one thing his dad gave him that wasn’t the greatest was his explosive temper.

After Tack got Tyra, he learned to put a clamp on that.

At least with Tyra.

But that hold leaked out into life.

Rush had seen that. Learned from it.

It didn’t mean, for them both, that disposition didn’t run latent, and with the right stimulus it could be unleashed.

So he took the time he needed to lock it down before he again spoke.

“I’m outside your work,” he told Naomi. “You’re not here.”

“You’re right. I’m not there,” she agreed nastily. “You call me for the first time in, oh, I don’t know, about a fuckin’ decade to tell me somethin’ I know?”

The phone worked both ways.

He did not share that.

“Mom, left you two messages. I know Dad tried to get hold of you so you know what’s goin’ down. I’m here to take you to Denver.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to Denver so you wasted the gas.”

“Mom—”

“Piss off, Rush.”

Rush stood still.

Not unusually for his mother, she started ranting.

“God, you’re so much like your father. Think you’re some kinda white knight in an MC cut. Well let me tell you, man, you are not. You’re an outlaw, born and bred. Newsflash, Rush, a law-abiding citizen doesn’t kick the shit outta some dealer who’s invading his patch,” she spat that last word like she hated the taste. “That’s still a crime and the type of crime that is, is spelled like felony.”

Rush had to force himself to speak.

“I’m not calling to debate what the brothers do. I’m calling to find out where you are because women are getting dead and I don’t want you to be one of them.”