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“What? You don’t want in, then give us the intel, and we’ll fucking take care of it. Not looking for permission, Oz.”
Nash stepped closer, staring back at Rogue. He may not have been a king, but he was a respected member of the Underground, and he protected his own.
“You really want to take the risk of going down for this? They’re watching and waiting for us to fuck up. One minor infraction and they could come in and take us all down.”
Rogue scoffed. “Oh yeah, that’s not fucking dramatic at all, Nash. Jesus fucking Christ, when did we lose our fucking balls here?”
“We don’t take careless risks. It’s what’s kept you out of prison with a life sentence, Rogue. A thank you will do,” Oz said, issuing a warning without raising his voice.
“Thanks.” Rogue grinned, grabbed his drink, and stood. “As I recall, me and Trey kept your ass out of jail a time or two. But as the number one, I guess that don’t mean shit anymore. Good to fucking know.”
“I want him, Oz.” This was personal. For her. And for me, because she’s mine. “As a favor for me.”
Oz squared his jaw. “You can’t have him.”
Fuck! Trey could’ve gone against Oz’s decision. Rogue probably would’ve, but Trey knew better. They all had their place, which was why the Underground ran fluidly and flawlessly. This was years in the making, building, and sacrificing for. This wasn’t just about Trey. It was about all of them.
“I’ll ask again, Trey. Is she just an incident?” Oz took a deep drag from his cigar. “You can’t have it both ways. Either you bring her in or cut her loose.”
Letting Dahlia go wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t, and he couldn’t. However, the alternative wasn’t something he’d come to terms with just yet. Bringing her in meant so much more than it seemed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dahlia yawned and sank into her couch. It was after ten in the morning, and she should’ve been fast asleep, but the night’s events had brought on a major case of insomnia. She’d gotten it wrong with Trey. Dahlia hadn’t been getting closer to him. It was all in her head. She’d confused intimacy with a relationship. Or maybe she’d allowed her own mind to make something out of nothing.
If she really looked back on every conversation, she’d have realized she was giving more to him than he’d ever given to her. In fact, Trey had offered nothing personally. He was right. It wasn’t a relationship—at least not on his end.
Then why is he calling?
Dahlia glanced down at her phone. She’d gotten three calls from Trey and ignored them all. She’d eventually have to speak with him, but for now, she needed time. This would be handled on her terms, unlike everything else in their relationship. Oh, wait, according to Trey, our non-relationship.
Dahlia tucked the pillow under her head and curled deeper into the couch, staring at the peeling paint in the corner of her wall. She was about to close her eyes when she heard the faint knock on her door.
She sat up, leaned back, and slid the curtain to the side. Dahlia gasped and straightened on her couch. What the hell? Dahlia stood and marched to the door, opening it a few inches.
“Why are you here?”
Seeing Trey through the small crack in the door was strange. He looked different. Still gorgeous, strong, and a bit intimidating, but different.
“May I come in?”
Without thinking, Dahlia widened the door but quickly remembered and halted, knitting her brows.
“No,” she whispered.
When she attempted to close it, Trey gripped the edge, forcing the door open once again.
“Dahlia,” he warned, but didn’t make a move to come inside.
“If you respect me, you’ll respect my wishes.” Dahlia glanced at his hand holding the door open. It was a power move, and she wouldn’t deny he’d held it all. Until now. Dahlia was reclaiming her own power.
She looked up, staring back at the man she’d fallen for. Love was hard. It had a way of stripping everything apart. It wasn’t a bad thing, but for Dahlia, she needed the equality of it to secure her own worth.
“Trey.” She narrowed her gaze. The seconds felt like an eternity, and she didn’t think he’d back down. How could he? A man like Trey didn’t back down from anyone. It made his next move all the more shocking. His released the door, dropped his hand to his side, and stepped back. It was confirmation she didn’t even know she needed. He was backing away as a sign of respect. For me. It may not have meant much to most people, but for Dahlia, it was everything. It was a validation she didn’t know she needed until this moment.
Dahlia grasped the edge of the door and slowly closed it, shutting him out. When the lock clicked into place, Dahlia rested her forehead against the wood and closed her eyes. Everything in her heart wanted to open the door, chase after him, and hear whatever he had to say. But where would that leave her? She’d be in the same position—in love with a man who refused to acknowledge her and their connection. As much as she wanted to fold, Dahlia slowly stepped away from the door.
She wasn’t sure how long she waited. Maybe ten minutes. It could have been thirty. Hell, it may have been an hour. She tiptoed to the window and slid back the curtain, expecting to see an empty spot in front of her house. Instead, Trey’s car was still parked. She jerked her gaze to the porch. Trey was resting his shoulder against the porch column with his hands tucked in his pockets. He was staring down at the road, waiting. On me.
