Harlow sat with Ryske for another few minutes until she was sure he was asleep. She didn’t like that he was still in a seated position because that put pressure on his wound. But she wasn’t going to try to move him herself. Doing that would cause more harm.
Inside the sports bag, she’d packed a few essentials and added the things she’d bought before going to the deli. Most of what was inside fell into the toiletries or clothing categories. But she’d also brought a blanket. Pulling it out, she spread the soft material across his chest. Tucking it in and running her hand into his hair one last time, she was actually reluctant to leave. Forcing herself to go, she left the bed and headed out to the living room.
The guys were on the couches and chairs, arranged around the coffee table that was still strewn with the remnants of the breakfast she’d brought.
Wearing a frown, she marched across the room to stand in front of the fireplace, and raised her hands to her hips, giving them all a dose of her disapproval. “I know you were afraid of losing him,” she said, scanning the men. “I understand that and I know you had no idea who I was or if I was a threat to him. But you had no right to go checking up on me, not without at least asking me for honesty first.”
“It’s Maze’s default to dig,” Dover said, slouching deeper into his armchair to her right. “And we had to know if you were connected to Hagan.”
“If I had been, I wouldn’t have gotten into the car outside Floyd’s,” she said.
“Sure you would,” Noon said from the couch next to Maze opposite where she was standing. “If you were doing recon for Hagan, finding Bale would be a coup.”
“It’s a competition,” Dover said. “It’s complicated, Nightingale. You don’t understand what’s going on. We’re in deep.”
“We have to protect ourselves,” Noon said. “And while Ryske is down, it’s our job to protect him.”
Harlow understood that too. She couldn’t understand why they didn’t see that she had been protecting him as well. Maybe her reasons were different from theirs, but she hadn’t done Ryske any harm, she’d only helped.
Before she could say any of that, Maze snapped, “I don’t see why we’re groveling,” he said, suddenly sitting up straight. “She’s no threat, we know that. She is a potential target, but that’s not our problem. If she’s pissed off, she knows where the door is.”
“Ryske seems to like her,” Bale said.
Maze just smiled. It was an ironic twist to his lips, not rooted in happiness. “And if he wants her, he’ll go get her, we all know that. I’m not going to grovel, Harlow. I am grateful that you helped our boy, and if you need a favor to even the score, you’ll find one of us in Floyd’s any time. But you don’t have to be here. If you hate us, leave. If you’re pissed, leave.”
Telling them that she didn’t like what they’d done wasn’t about hate or anger. She’d told Ryske that she would be here when he woke up and she planned to be. Maze was tense about something, and she had a feeling it wasn’t her.
Ignoring Maze’s temper, she switched her focus to Bale. “Ryske’s asleep. I gave him some water, is that okay? He only had a sip.”
“That’s fine,” Bale said.
Sometimes the doctor seemed to be the only sane mind present. “He’s still sitting up. I don’t want him to get hurt. Could you help me lay him down?”
“Maze will help the doc,” Dover said, nodding at his friend who hadn’t expected to be volunteered. “Go help.”
His jaw moved, but he got up and went into the bedroom with Bale not far behind him. After the door closed, Dover breathed out and raised his hands to the top of his head.
Noon was the one to move to the front of his seat. “Ignore Maze, he’s being an asshole,” he said to her. “We do have to protect the crew, but it’s not you he’s pissed at.”
“Though he’s right,” Dover said. “You should probably go. This isn’t your life.”
Getting rid of her wasn’t going to be easy. “What isn’t my life?” she asked, walking to the chair that Bale had vacated at the opposite end of the coffee table from Dover. “I chose my career because I wanted to help people. I’m here to help.”
The way Dover and Noon looked at each other was intriguing, though she couldn’t quite figure out what it meant. Were they still suspicious of her or worried about drawing her in deeper?
“How long have you all been friends?” she asked, trying to break the ice.
It took a moment before anyone answered, but eventually Dover drew his eyes from Noon to her. “A long time,” he said. “A very long time.”
These men were protective of their friendships. The default seemed to be more about habit than suspicion. It had become clear that they took their cues from Ryske. As long as he was out of service, they were going to feel at a disadvantage, which would probably make them defensive.
They’d witnessed their friend hurt, they were shook up, and for some reason, she was too. Ryske’s crew had a reason to worry, Harlow didn’t. She hadn’t known him before last night. Yet, for some reason, she felt like she too would be more grounded if Ryske would come around. It was a crazy thought; she’d never known him as himself at his full strength.
But she was intrigued. Maybe too intrigued. Whether or not it was healthy, Harlow didn’t plan on going anywhere until her curiosity was satisfied.
Ryske’s crew kept to themselves. Most of the time when she walked into a room they were huddled together and either shut up so she wouldn’t catch a word or lowered their volume, making it clear that they didn’t want her to be part of their discussions.
Bale was a pleasant host though. He let her help with the checks on sleeping Ryske and after popping out to the store, he gave her free rein to cook in his kitchen. It was a distraction; one she needed to clear her head. Going through the motions in the kitchen was easier than trying to figure out why it was so important to her to keep her promise to Ryske that she’d be around when he woke up.
Harlow didn’t like to make promises. In fact, it was one of the first things she’d learned at work. Promises were easy to break and sometimes it wasn’t anyone’s fault; some things just weren’t possible. So while it was a nice idea to tell a family they’d get to stay together or to promise kids that they wouldn’t be separated from their parents, it wasn’t possible to make that happen when courts said otherwise or parents went to jail or died.
Maybe that was why she was so determined to keep the promises that she did make. Staying for Ryske wasn’t a hardship; she had nothing but homework to do that Sunday. If time got on and she really had to, she could do some of her research on her phone.
The soup she’d made was cooling on the stove when Dover poked his head out of the bedroom to whistle at Noon and Maze, who got up to go scurrying into the bedroom. The door was closed and she was left alone in the kitchen to guess that Ryske had woken up.
Harlow was still frowning at the bedroom door a minute later when the timer went off, indicating that her cookies were ready. Taking them from the oven, she placed them on a cooling rack and then ladled some soup into a bowl.
It wasn’t just Ryske who intrigued her. She had an odd compulsion to get to the bottom of what had happened. If these men were acting in a way designed to hurt them, it was her professional duty to help them avoid destructive behavior.
Retrieving a spoon from the drawer, she carried the bowl of soup to the bedroom. She didn’t even care that the men bristled when she opened the door and entered to join them.
Harlow ignored the trio and went to sit by Ryske, stirring the soup as she walked. Focusing on the food meant she didn’t have to look anyone in the eye, and it let her keep up the appearance of being relaxed and unaffected by the crew’s annoyance at her presence.
Bale wasn’t in the room. The shower was on in the adjoining bathroom, so she guessed that’s where he was.
“You want to give us a minute, Harlow?” Dover asked.
Scooping some soup into the spoon, she circled her lips and blew on it gently, leaning closer to Ryske. “He has to eat,” she said, offering the spoon to the patient’s lips. “Bale said it was okay.”
“I’m sure he can work a spoon,” Maze said without disguising his impatience.
Matching the half-smile that hinted on Ryske’s lips before he opened them to accept the soup, she inched a little higher. “It’s okay, she can stay,” Ryske said, licking the soup from his lips. “That’s good, Trink.”
“Made it myself,” she said, scooping up some more and testing the temperature on her lip before offering it to his.
Crooking a brow, he showed he was impressed and accepted the food.
“She really is a regular Florence Nightingale,” Dover muttered.
Harlow chose to ignore him and kept feeding Ryske. “I baked cookies for you too, if you’re strong enough.” The intimate mood that had been building between them was shattered when Ryske lurched forward, choking in a cough and putting a hand under his chin to catch the soup that tried to escape. Panic made her shove the soup onto the nightstand. Standing in a stoop, stroking his back, Harlow cupped a hand around his cheek. “Was it too hot? God, I’m sorry, Crash. I’m sorry.”
A blink later, he’d recovered. His chin rose. The feral look he pinned on her brought her up short. She wasn’t quite sure why he was suddenly so aware of her.
“Clear out, guys.”
That tone was a more serious variation on the purr he’d used before falling asleep.
“Oh, geez,” she heard Maze mutter.
Glancing back, the trio were slipping out of the bedroom. Harlow was still confused about what had happened when Ryske’s fingers curled around her wrist. He drew her back down to sit on the bed. Pulling her hand across his lap, he held it down on the mattress by his uninjured hip, forcing her to lean across him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
With his eyelids low, his gaze managed to be intent on something, but it wasn’t her face. With a loose hand, he swept her hair from her shoulder and leaned forward. A brief moment of discomfort made him pause to grit his teeth, but it passed and he kept moving until his breath warmed the crook of her neck.
“Cookies, huh?” he murmured a moment before pressing the heat of his mouth to her skin.
Shock and arousal jolted her. “Ryske,” she said, planting a hand on his shoulder, but he still had her other wrist in his grip and she couldn’t get it free. “Oh my God, no. No!”
“Don’t fight, Trink,” he said, kissing her neck again. Just like before, his fingers began to slide up the inside of her knee toward the hem of her skirt. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”
The spell of sleep had given his brazenness a boost. “No,” she said, grabbing for his hand to force it away from her leg. Leaning away as much as she could, Harlow got her neck out of the reach of his entitled mouth. “Ryske, I want to take care of you.”
His alight eyes were trailing across her body. “It’s my turn to take real good care of you, babydoll.”
“No,” she said, flattening his hand onto his chest. After what was meant to be an anchoring press, she skimmed her fingers down to his dressed wound. “You’re injured.”
That wasn’t the only reason that she was saying no to his advances but figured it should be the most relevant factor in Ryske’s decision making. “Everything works, baby. I promise. No problems.”
There was no way she believed that he actually knew that every part of himself worked after experiencing such trauma and blood loss. Not that it mattered, there was no way that she wanted to find out.
“No,” she said, being more forceful about putting his hand to his chest when he tried to reach for her again. “God, Ryske, if this is what you’re like at half-strength, I dread to think about how vigorous you’d be if you were yourself.”
A renewed sparkle shone from him. “Is that what you need, baby? Vigorous?”
He might be talking in that purr he reserved for seduction, but her interest in being alluring wasn’t as high as his. In her attempt to dissuade him, she took on an almost schoolmarm persona and sat straighter to chastise him.
“I need for you to eat your soup. If you finish it, I might…” She held up a straight finger. “Might let you have a cookie. But you are going to keep your hands to yourself and your mouth too, definitely your mouth. You should keep that to…” she cleared her throat. “To yourself.”
Sinking back against the pillows propped on the headboard, he smirked again. “You’re in charge, Trinket,” he said. Thinking that her resistance had exhausted him might have been premature. “But when I’m myself again, I’m gonna have you… and you’re not even going to fight it.”
He didn’t fight to keep her wrist when she took it from his grip against the mattress. After adjusting her position, Harlow picked up the soup again and began to feed him. “You’re lucky that you’re on drugs or I’d be offended by that presumption.”
Harlow had been given an excellent education, her parents had insisted on it. But she didn’t usually speak quite so properly. Maybe Ryske’s lack of compunction increased hers. She’d shake it off. She would. Once she got used to being around Ryske… if she ever got used to it.
“You’ve got some big words there, baby,” he said. “But, I gotta tell you, other than whatever you put in that broth, I’m not on any drugs.”
It wasn’t a broth, but that wasn’t really the point. Lowering the bowl an inch, she noticed that the IV was no longer in his arm. The stand was there, but the needle was gone.
“You’re… what about the antibiotics?”
Either he was confused or didn’t care, maybe he’d been talking about illegal drugs. Reassuring as it was to know he wasn’t an addict, Harlow hadn’t thought for a second that he was. In addition to the antibiotics, she’d guess Bale had Ryske on some kind of painkillers. Though it might not be so easy to get his hands on the narcotics without a patient to declare.
Shrugging off her question, Ryske sighed. “Bale’s the doctor,” he said, walking his fingertips onto her knee again. “You worry about playing nursemaid.”
“That hand goes any higher, and you’ll need the doctor all over again.”
“Good,” he said, accepting another spoonful. “We’re defining our boundaries. Keep telling me what works for you. How’s this?”
Sliding his hand higher, he flattened it out, until his fingertips touched the hem of her skirt. “Keep it out of my clothes and I’ll let it stay there.”
The soup was cool enough now that she didn’t have to blow. Even though Maze had probably been right that Ryske could work a spoon, Harlow kept feeding him.
After another few spoonful’s, he spoke, “Why did you choose social work?”
“I wanted to help people. Why did you choose crime?”
“Same reason,” he said.
His fingers bent and straightened on her leg in an almost constant caress, but he didn’t let them ascend beneath her skirt, just as she’d asked.
With the spoon in the soup, she narrowed her eyes on him. “You chose crime to help people?”
“Yeah,” he said and smiled. “Me.”
Dragging the back of the spoon against the rim of the bowl, she scraped off the drips. “It can’t be that satisfying,” she said. “Don’t you feel guilty about hurting people for your own gain?”
“I don’t hurt people,” he said, curling his fingers around hers on the spoon to guide it to his mouth. After slurping from it, he licked the spoon. “Not the kind of people you help anyway.”
When he released his grip, she put the spoon back in the bowl, and lowered it to her lap, cradling the ceramic in her hand. “Dover said you were in competition with Hagan. What does that mean?”
Before he answered, he considered her. Rather than playing him by projecting innocence, she tried to appear as neutral as she could.
Opening his mouth, he inhaled a deep breath, and took his time about blowing it out. “Floyd’s belonged to Dover’s father, a man we all knew, a good man… At least, good by our yardstick, maybe not by yours.”
Putting the bowl on the nightstand, she curled a leg up onto the bed to twist further toward him. Though that gave his hand access to a little more flesh, he still followed her instruction and kept it out of her skirt.
“I have no yardstick,” she said, resting her hand over his on her leg, mostly as a way to get his fingers to stay still given that they were beginning to awaken her skin. “It’s my job to be impartial. You can talk to me.”
One side of his mouth stretched. Either he thought she was cute and innocent, or wading into something she’d never be able to handle. “He died a few years ago, and when he did, Dover took over running the bar.” She nodded. “For as long as I can remember…” He paused, maybe lingering over the decision of how much to tell her. “There’s been an underground casino in the basement.”
She didn’t expect him to say that. The dark, dirty conditions of the bar she’d gone into didn’t scream glamorous casino, not even close. “Cards?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Among other things. Floyd’s has held the monopoly in the neighborhood for decades. Any upstarts who think they can take our business don’t last long.”
“Hagan wants to take it?” she said, trying to figure things out. “I don’t understand though. You said you lost money to him. You must have played at his place. Why would he let you do that if you’re on Dover’s crew? He must know you’re loyal to Floyd’s.”
Slipping his hand out from beneath hers, he curled his fingers against her jaw. “A sweet middle-class girl like you shouldn’t be in bed with a man like me.” Glancing around at the bed they were seated on, she wondered what her upbringing had to do with their association. His laugh made her attention snap back to him. “Man, those big innocent eyes are killer. Clueless or scamming, I don’t even care. I bet you’ve never met a man who wouldn’t fall to his knees for you… You ever done any grifting?”
Though he probably thought the suggestion was a compliment, it made her laugh. “Are you trying to recruit me?” She tilted her head. “Bale said you don’t let anyone new on your crew. Are you thinking of using me once and then ousting me? If you’re asking me to do what I think you’re asking me to, I think they call that pimping, and much as I appreciate the offer, I have a job, Mr. Ryske.”
“One that doesn’t allow you to reach your potential,” he said, caressing her jawline with his knuckles. “And I’d never pimp you, baby.”
Crooking a brow, she didn’t take his reassurance at face value. No one could accuse her of being naïve today. “Not until you’ve had the pleasure yourself, right?” she asked. The act of leaning closer let his hand slide a fraction higher on her leg. “It’s never going to happen, Crash.”
The curve of his index finger glided down her jaw. “No?” he asked, raising his chin to align their mouths. “I think you’d be surprised by what we’re capable of, Trinket.”
“We?” she asked. “You think your crew will help you to seduce me?”
He didn’t blink, but his eyelids were getting heavier by the moment. “Fuck them, Trink. I’m talking about us. You and me, baby… We are gonna own the world… I’ll show you… Lemme help you…”
“Last time I asked you to help me, it was to get you onto your feet, and you wanted something in return.”
Satisfaction twisted his lips. “This time, I’ll give you something,” he said, using his loose, curled fingers to try tempting her mouth closer.
The act of licking her lips fired a glint of triumph in his eyes. Except Harlow wasn’t preparing to kiss him, she was preparing to call him out.
“You just can’t help yourself,” she murmured. “I don’t know what’s worse, that you think I’d believe this was real or that you believe I could be desperate enough to fall for it. Do you ever switch it off?”
Though the light of victory was gone from his gaze, he didn’t come across as disappointed. Remaining where they were, in close proximity with their mouths only an inch or two apart, they both took the chance to reassess their assumptions about the other.
“Oh, shit, Ryske,” Bale’s voice came from behind them. “In my bed? Really?” Sitting back, Harlow twisted to look over her shoulder. The doctor stood just outside the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair wet. “I agreed to take out the IV so you could use the bathroom, not for… this.”
Unapologetic, Ryske was more amused than smug. “You gift-wrapped and hand-delivered a beautiful woman to me, doc. A man’s got to keep his skills polished.”
Yeah, and that’s what Harlow had meant when she asked if Ryske thought she’d believe the seduction was real. Being a female, in proximity to a male who obviously enjoyed them, was enough for him. Not for her. The last thing she’d ever be for any man was a practice mannequin.
“Polish them with your fist in the shower as soon as the doctor clears you for solo bathing,” she said, rising from the bed and flattening her skirt. Going to the end of the bed, she smiled at Bale. “If the others haven’t finished them, there are cookies in the kitchen. I’m going home to finish my research.”
Bale nodded, moving closer. “You’ll let Noon drive you?”
“I will. Saves me cab fare.”
“Are you coming back tomorrow?”
“After work,” she said. “I’ll come straight from the office.”
“I’m on second shift at the hospital tomorrow, but one of the guys will be here to let you in.” Bale glanced toward the bed, but she was pleased not to have to look at the patient. “I want him off his feet for at least the next couple of days. Can you stay until about ten thirty? I should be back by then, I don’t trust the others.”
“I understand,” she said and took his hand. “Of course I’ll stay.”
“Whoa, hey, wait,” Ryske said, making them turn. The patient wasn’t so at ease anymore, he was struggling to straighten his position. “You don’t trust my guys to what? And why the fuck is she holding your hand?”
Drawing her attention away from Ryske, Harlow showed that she wasn’t afraid to ignore him. “I’ll leave my number by the phone,” she said. “Call me if you need anything. And make sure he has his IV in before you leave.”
“I will,” Bale said, switching a glare to Ryske. “If it’s gone by the time you get here, we’ll know he went against medical advice.”
She let Ryske see her smile. “Which I know you’re not allowed to do or you lose your doctor.”
Defeated, and maybe a little petulant, Ryske slumped against his pillows. “Aren’t you people supposed to help others not conspire against them?”
“For you, we make an exception,” Bale said.
Stepping forward, Harlow took Bale’s hand to guide him down so she could kiss his cheek, shocking both men.
Bale’s smile began to slope upwards.
“Yeah, you smile, doc,” Ryske said. “Just don’t forget how much time that mouth is gonna spend wrapped around my cock in a few weeks.”
Forgetting to be offended, Harlow let herself be amused by Ryske’s audacity, maybe because it horrified Bale so much. Turning to Ryske, she kept her tongue pointed against her upper lip while she absorbed the arrogance in his gaze.
“Never gonna happen,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear and backed toward the door to slip out.
Ryske was her friend; the crew he ran with would come around to being her friends too. They weren’t her usual fare of people. Although she hadn’t been in the city for long, but already she was broadening her horizons and learning it was a hell of a lot of fun.