Page 95 of Long Way Down

His lips compressed into a humorless grin. “Trying to learn how the criminal mind works, huh?”

“You’re not a criminal.”

His head tilted.

“Well, okay, you are. You do criminal things, but you don’t…” She sighed. “You aren’t like the guy I’m hunting. And you’re not like the man you – killed.”

Killed. The word held weight; sat heavy on her tongue and landed like a dropped grenade on the tiles between them.

He’d killed someone. She knew that – that’s what Lean Dogsdid. They dealt drugs, and ran guns with the serials filed off, and they killed their enemies, often and ruthlessly, and no law enforcement agency had ever successfully levied charges against them as an organization.

“Sweetheart.” He stepped in closer and touched her face; tilted her head gently back with a knuckle under her chin so their gazes met. His expression had gone warm and soft in that way she found so enticing, sweet and mischievous all at once, his effortless charm. “Did it hit you all of a sudden? That you’re sleeping with a one-percenter?”

“No.” If that was too defensive, so be it; it was taking a considerable amount of self-control not to sway into him. He was warm, up close like this, heat radiating off his skin and clothes, wildly enticing.

He chuckled, and the sound settled low in her hips, drew her heartbeat down between her legs. “What?” His thumb stroked across her cheek, the pad smooth with old calluses. “You thought we just wear leather to look cool?”

She frowned, and his thumb slipped down to press into the corner of her mouth. “No. I know what you are.”

His expression invited her to elaborate.

“What I meant was: I’m glad you told me. Because I wondered why you joined. Because you seem too–”

“Stupid to be a Dog?”

“Sweet,” she snapped, frustrated. “You seem too sweet, damn it!”

His brows lifted, but she had momentum, now.

“You were trying to do the right thing, you protected someone, and then you had to live knowing you’d killed a guy, and the system totally failed you. How are you so goddamn sweet after that? Huh? How are you not just angry as hell all the time?”

Breathing harshly in the aftermath, she stared up at him, and watched understanding dawn in his gaze along with a tenderness that left her wanting to squirm and look away. “Like you, you mean?” he asked, oh-so-gently.

She gritted her teeth. “No, not like me.”

“You’re pretty angry, Dix.”

“You know what I mean.”

He nodded, relenting. “Yeah, I do.” He seemed to consider the question seriously, fingertips trailing up and down the side of her neck in a way that left her wanting to purr. “The club helps, mostly. Reminds me that there’s ways around the rules when they fuck you over.” He cupped her nape, fingers threading through her hair, and tilted her head a fraction so their gazes were better aligned. So he could look into her eyes with an intensity totally at odds with his outward appearance. “Is that what brought this on? You’re tired of following the rules?”

She formed, and then swallowed a scathing reply. Instead said, “You’re looking for him, too. This rapist. Right?”

“I’m…asking around,” he said, evasively.

“If you find him, will you kill him?”

His brows went up again, and his hand stilled, before his fingertips resumed their massaging circles against her scalp. “Ah, well, that’s not really my area of expertise, baby. There’s guys who specialize in the, uh, art of the blade, if you know what I mean.” A hollow chuckle.

“Fine. Will they do it, then? Will the specialists take him out?”

A notch formed between his brows. “Dixie–”

“Stop.Whydo you keep calling me that?”

His face smoothed with surprise, and she realized it was the first time she’d ever asked him that.

He blinked. “Because I wanted to call you something that nobody else did. Something that was special, just for me.”