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  PRAISE FOR

  DARE TO RUN

  “Dark, edgy . . . McLaughlin’s well-crafted characters are relatable, sympathetic, and appealing.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “McLaughlin pairs the ultimate bad boy with a strong female counterpart to deliver an exciting novel where tension mounts on every page. The story provides excellent insight into life on the other side of the law . . . When love enters the equation, it upsets the carefully established balance.”

  —RT Book Reviews (4½ Stars, Top Pick)

  MORE PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF JEN McLAUGHLIN

  “Sexy, hot chemistry and heroes to die for!”

  —Laura Kaye, New York Times bestselling author

  “Jen McLaughlin’s books are sexy and satisfying reads.”

  —Jennifer Probst, New York Times bestselling author

  “I’m a huge Jen McLaughlin fan—she never disappoints.”

  —Monica Murphy, New York Times bestselling author

  “I devour [Jen McLaughlin’s] books no matter what genre she’s writing in.”

  —Romance for Every World

  “[A] really enjoyable read. No one does angst and romance quite like Jen McLaughlin does . . . I laughed, shook my head, and swooned.”

  —Once Upon a Book Blog

  “As love blurs the line between privilege and misfortune, readers will root for this unlikely duo. The action is heart-stopping, and reformation occurs at a believable pace without diminishing the unpleasant truths of gang life.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jen McLaughlin is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of numerous books, including the Out of Line Novels, and Dare to Run and Dare to Stay in the Sons of Steel Row series. She has also written under the name Diane Alberts. Visit her online at jenmclaughlin.com.

  Also by Jen McLaughlin

  DARE TO RUN

  DARE TO STAY

  BERKLEY SENSATION

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by Jen McLaughlin

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and BERKLEY SENSATION are registered trademarks and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780698410954

  First Edition: February 2017

  Cover photos: Man © Claudio Marinesco/Ninestock

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  This book is for Cynthia and Ashley.

  May you live happily ever after, just like they do in my books.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, first thanks has to go out to my family. Thank you for always understanding when I’m stuck in edits or writing, and for always being patient. You guys know once I’m finished, I’ll always return your call, or take you to the basketball court, or watch that show with you, and that’s invaluable to an author like me. So Greg, Kaitlyn, Hunter, Gabe, Emmy, Mom, Dad, Cynthia, Ashley, Tina, Erick, Danny, Connor, Riley, Mom M, Dad M, and everyone else I’m lucky enough to call family, I love you.

  To my friends, some of whom I’ll name here, but none of whom I’d ever thank less because they’re not named here because I suck and I forgot, thank you for being there for me. Whether it was for me to bounce ideas off of you, grab a few drinks or a meal with, or if you sit with me on the sidelines at basketball or cheerleading practice, or if you let me stay with you for a week because you just rock that much, you’re frigging awesome. I love you Jay, Liz, Michelle, Joanne, Jill, Rebecca, Christia, Heidi, Erin, and so many more that I’m not typing out because I’ve got edits to do (story of my life), but even if you’re not here . . . I love you.

  To my agent, Louise, and Kristin, who I also work with, and all the people at the Bent Agency . . . thank you for standing by me and my work, and always believing in me. Thank you for picking me up while I’m down, but also for giving me that kick that knocked me down in the first place if I needed it. I feel better for having you by my side, fighting for me and with me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, Louise. Thanks for being my Mama Bear.

  To Kristine, my editor here at Penguin, and the marketing, publicity, editing, art, and everything else I’m not thinking of here at Berkley . . . thank you for giving me your time and trust. I love this series, and all the characters in it, and I’m so happy I’ve been able to write these books with all of you as part of my team.

  To all the readers out here, reading my books, and telling your friends about them . . . THANK YOU. I love writing, and it’s something I’ve wanted to do since I was old enough to know people did this as a job. Because of you reading my books, and helping spread word of them to your friends, I am able to do this for a living, and quite honestly, I don’t know what I’d do if that ever changed. Writing is my life. My passion. My love. And because of you, I get to live it. So thank you for hanging in there with me on this crazy ride I’m on as an author, and for trusting me to bring you on adventures that are worth your time and hard-earned money.

  Without all of you listed above, I wouldn’t be me.

  And I’ll never take that for granted.

  I love you.

  Jen

  CONTENTS

  Praise for Jen McLaughlin

  About the Author

  Also by Jen McLaughlin

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1: Scotty

  Chapter 2: Skylar

  Chapter 3: Scotty

  Chapter 4: Skylar

  Chapter 5: Scotty

  Chapter 6: Skylar

  Chapter 7: Scotty

  Chapter 8: Skylar

  Chapter 9: Scotty

  Chapter 10: Skylar

  Chapter 11: Scotty

  Chapter 12: Skylar

  Chapter 13: Scotty

  Chapter 14: Skylar

  Chapter 15: Scotty

  Chapter 16: Skylar

  Chapter 17: Scotty

  Chapter 18: Skylar

  Chapter 19: Scotty

  Chapter 20: Skylar

  Chapter 21: Scotty

  Chapter 22: Skylar

  Chapter 23: Scotty

  Chapter 24: Skylar

  Chapter 25: Scotty

  Chapter 26: Skylar

  Chapter 27: Scotty

  Chapter 28: Skylar

  Epilogue: Scotty

  CHAPTER 1

  SCOTTY

  A bullet flew by my ear, with a soft whizz, sounding deceptively softer than its hollow-point reality. It would rip through flesh without mercy. I squeezed the trigger of my gun as sweat rolled down into my eyes, and watched a Bitter Hill asshole fall to the ground, clutching his chest, blood bubbling out of his mouth as he breathed his last gurgling breath due to my bullet.

  Shit. />
  That was going to be a lot of paperwork.

  The Bitter Hill men had come at us when no one had their pistols drawn, giving them an advantage against us—one that hadn’t lasted long. Chris O’Brien moved to my side, squeezing off shots without even a sign of hesitation. “You okay, Scotty?”

  I nodded once, wiping my forearm over my forehead, and scanned the alley for more of the opposing gang members. “Where the hell did these guys come from?”

  Another one came around the corner, and Chris and I simultaneously fired. Mine hit him in the chest, directly over the heart. Chris’s was dead center in the forehead. He liked head shots and was one of the only men I knew who could consistently nail them.

  Blood sprayed behind the Bitter Hill man and he was dead before he hit the ground.

  “I don’t know,” Chris shouted back, his eyes locked on the opening of the alley where they’d cornered us, just like mine. We’d come a long way, me and Chris. If someone had told me he would try to kill my brother, but then we’d become closer because he failed, I would’ve laughed in their faces—or shot them.

  “They picked the wrong day to attack. Tate’s pissed as hell.”

  I looked over my shoulder, eyeing the man in charge of the Sons of Steel Row. Tate looked to be seconds from pulling a grenade launcher out from behind his back and going all kamikaze on the Bitter Hill scum who dared to attack us when we were on our way to a funeral for one of our older members, Gus. May the fucker not rest in peace.

  The Sons was the most influential gang in Southie, and up until recently, that title had gone undisputed. But then my “dead” brother, Lucas, started a war with Bitter Hill over a chick he was into and everything had gone to shit afterward.

  Now we were waging a full-fledged war with Bitter Hill . . .

  One we just might lose, if we didn’t play our cards right.

  A bullet hit the wall next to my head with a spray of brick dust, and Chris growled angrily, squeezing his trigger in rapid succession at the fucker who’d tried to take me out. I couldn’t get a shot on him, since he was out of my line of fire. A groan sounded to the left of us as one of our men went down, taking a hit to the shoulder. Next went Roger, staggering back and clutching his arm. Cursing, I tried to find the shooter—and finally did. He was coming around the corner, aiming for Chris . . . who had just fired his last bullet.

  Luckily, it had taken the other guy down.

  Biting back a curse, I aimed and took the second shooter out before he could take out my friend, shooting directly over Chris’s shoulder. For a second, Chris looked like he thought I was aiming for him. He was the only other man who knew I wasn’t just another street thug, but was in reality in the DEA. Maybe he thought I was trying to kill the only man who could blow my cover? Not that I would do that, but I could understand the logic.

  The man I shot fell to the ground, convulsing as he, too, died. My aim was true.

  Great. Even more paperwork.

  After glancing over his shoulder with wide eyes, Chris turned back to me, breathing heavily. “Thanks, man.”

  I nodded, not saying anything.

  He had a scrape on his temple, and blood trickled down his face from the wound, but besides that, he looked okay enough. His girlfriend, Molly, would still be upset. I’d promised to return him unharmed. After all, we were only going to a funeral. But still, with tensions high between us and Bitter Hill, we’d suspected something like this might happen.

  So we came prepared. Thank God.

  Tommy, another lieutenant, called out, “Everyone alive?”

  “Yeah,” Brian growled, nodding at me from the brick doorway he’d taken cover in.

  Frankie nodded, his blond hair in his eyes. “Yeah, man.”

  Me and Chris called out, too, and then we all came out of cover when Tate said, “We’re good. Everyone, reload in case they come back.”

  I slowly lowered my Sig, eyeing the carnage in front of us as I pulled out my extra mag. I’d taken down three, and Chris had as well. Who knew who took down the rest? We all reloaded silently. It had been twelve Bitter Hill guys against nine Sons. Not a fair fight for them. None of us had been killed, a gift given only by the grace of God. They came at us when we were backed into a corner, a strategic move that didn’t pay off well for them. They should have known never to back a Son into a corner.

  We always came out swinging.

  Tate tucked his pistol into his suit jacket, scowling at the dead bodies in front of him. His red hair was immaculately styled; the gun battle hadn’t budged a strand. “Leave them for the Boys, or for Bitter Hill. I’m not cleaning up their damn mess for them this time.”

  We tucked our guns away, murmuring consent. I nodded at Chris, who did the same. It was time to go.

  Before we could head for his Mustang, Tate came over to Chris, clapping him on the shoulder. “Nice shot, Chris.”

  Chris grinned and gestured to the last corpse we’d taken down together. “Thanks, sir. I was particularly proud of that one.”

  “Me too. Nice teamwork, guys.” Tate raised his voice. “Roll out, boys.”

  We walked to our cars, watching for another ambush. I was halfway into the passenger seat of Chris’s Mustang when Tate called out, “Donahue?”

  I froze, my hand on the roof of Chris’s car. “Yes, sir?”

  “Ride with me.” He gave me a hard look. “We need to talk. Now.”

  Well, shit. That couldn’t be good. Not when I was living a lie, right under his nose. Most of the time, when Tate singled out a man like this, they didn’t come back. “Sure thing, sir.”

  “Both of us?” Chris called out.

  I appreciated the effort and all, but if I was going down, I wouldn’t be dragging him down with me. Molly would kill me. “Just me,” I said, my voice hard.

  “Yep, just him,” Tate said, frowning. “Ready, Donahue?”

  I mussed up my hair, grinning like I didn’t have a care in the world. “Yes, sir. Whatever you want.”

  Chris cleared his throat as I closed the door, latching gazes with me over the roof of his car. “Everything okay?”

  “I hope so,” I muttered, smoothing my suit jacket over my abs. The only way Tate could have been told about me was if someone knew, and the only other person who knew was staring at me with concern. I was pretty damn certain he hadn’t ratted me out. “It should be.”

  Chris nodded once, flexing his jaw. “Be smart.”

  “Always,” I murmured, heading toward my boss with long, carefree strides and shoving my hands in my trouser pockets. As I slid into his town car, which was driven by Tommy, I plastered an easy grin on my face, playing the part I’d been cast into years ago, of Lucas’s charming younger brother. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Tate closed the door behind us, tapping on the window that separated Tommy from us. It pulled forward immediately. “You look young enough to be in college. How old are you?”

  I blinked. “Sir?”

  “Your age.” He cocked a reddish-brown brow at me. “What is it?”

  Out of all the things I expected him to ask me, this was not one of them. “Twenty-five, sir.”

  “Hmm.” He rubbed his jaw, looking me up and down. “You look half decent in a suit.”

  I swallowed, having no clue where the hell he was going with this, but pretty damn certain I wouldn’t like it. “Thanks . . . ?”

  “How are your acting abilities?” he asked distractedly, staring out the window as we drove. “At playing a part that no one would expect you to play?”

  Well, if that wasn’t a trick question, considering my secret life, I didn’t know what was. If I said yes, he’d wonder if I was playing a part right now—and I was. If I said no, I wouldn’t be as valuable to the gang, and I’d lose any headway I’d gained over the years. So I chose silence instead. “What do you need from me, sir?
”

  “I’m getting there. What I tell you can’t leave this car. If it does, I’ll know it was you, and I’ll act accordingly for the breach of trust.” He squared his jaw, finally turning back to me. He looked seconds from pulling out a gun. “Understood?”

  I nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He cleared his throat. “I have a sister.”

  I blinked at him, taken aback. I’d done my research on Tate long before I officially became a Son. Before I was formally a DEA agent, too. I never entered anything blindly. That was a fucking death sentence. And yet I’d never found even a damn hint about Tate having a sister. “You do?”

  “Yeah. She’s twenty-three and in med school.” He leaned back in the seat, staring straight ahead at the tinted window. “She’s not like us. She’s good. Does charity work all the time, and has no clue what kind of life I lead.”

  So the apple fell far from the tree? I found that hard to believe. More likely than not, she put on a good front. “I see. And you’re telling me this because . . . ?”

  “She thinks I’m the CEO of an investment firm—which I am, on all fronts—but that’s all she knows. She doesn’t know about my ties to the Sons of Steel Row, and she thinks I’m like any white-collar almost-thirty-year-old man. So she wants me to do a bachelor’s auction for date for charity, to play nice with some spoiled rich socialite who would probably want more than dinner and a bottle of champagne from me.” He turned to me, looking about as happy as he would if he’d been shot in the ass. “But I don’t play nice with women. Not like you do.”

  I stiffened, knowing where this was going now. And I’d been right—I wasn’t going to fucking like it. I’d rather be strapped to an electric chair and pumped with a thousand volts than do what he was about to ask me to do. And the worst part? I wouldn’t have a choice. “Sir?”

  “Since I now have to deal with the mess of this shoot-out, you’re going to go in my place. Tell her you’re a grad student, like her, and interning at my office. I’m regrettably held up with work—which I am now, with this shooting—so I sent you in my place. I promised her I wouldn’t leave her a man short for tonight, since she had a hard time finding men who would volunteer. That’s where you come in.” He gestured to me. “You’re already in a suit and everything. You didn’t get shot, right?”