Riding Dirty by Abriella Blake Page B

her.”
    Bronson crunched the butt of his cigarette under his boot, gritting his teeth as he thought of his mother. “Maybe not.”
    The sound of crickets swelled between them. Rowan was a little puzzled. “Did you bring me all this way to tell me all this?”
    “Nah,” said Bronson. “I brought you here to get a liver for your sister.”

CHAPTER NINE

    Rowan couldn’t believe her ears. She squinted at Bronson’s lips through the darkness as if her eyes could corroborate that Bronson’s words had really been said.
    “A liver,” she breathed, a bead of sweat breaking out on her forehead. “You mean tonight? Already? How?”
    “Shhh no, don’t worry. You’d think I was taking yours. Relax.” The shrill edge of panic and hope in Rowan’s voice brought Bronson’s arms instinctively around her trembling shoulders in an effort to comfort her. For some reason, this time she didn’t flinch from his embrace and stared into his face with childlike confusion. “No, we’re not gonna get the actual organ tonight dummy. We only made seventy grand today, which is a great start, actually, but not enough. This is just step number one. I needed you here tonight so you could tell the guy what he needs to know. To set it up right, make sure there are no miscommunications.”
    Rowan’s cheek was pressed against Bronson’s chest. She could feel his corded peck muscles even through the thick leather of his Ruiners’ cut, and closed her eyes. The smell of the road, sweat, and leather clung to him. She was so very tired, had come so far already today, that it felt right to rest against his brawny support.
    “Why are you helping me, Ramsey?”
    Bronson looked down at that damp tangle of hair, sharply aware of the sweet curl of Rowan’s body against his. There was no easy answer to that question. Why? Why was he helping her?
    “I don’t know, blondie. I must be nuts.”
    It wasn’t simply that she was a smart investment, a means to quietly amass his own savings and achieve his own ends. He’d been asking himself all damn day whether he would have done this business deal with another girl or if he’d have helped Rowan if she were a different person. None of his reactions had satisfied him, and he didn’t try to offer any real answers to her now. Instead, he ran his hand lightly into the hair at Rowan’s nape, gently caressing her neck with his fingers, trusting his touch to do the talking.
    Piercing headlights and the groan of crunching gravel interrupted the tender moment. Rowan lifted her head but didn’t draw away from Bronson, turning her face to track the approaching vehicle. In the saturated whiteness of the high-beams, she looked angelic.
    “Don’t worry,” instructed Bronson. “Just answer his questions. I got you.”
    The newcomer killed his car engine, but kept the cruel high beams leveled straight at their eyes and beyond, casting eerie shadows against the sienna canyon walls. The driver and passenger doors opened almost simultaneously, but blinded as she was by the headlights, Rowan could barely see the silhouettes of the two large men who exited the car.
    “Ramsey,” rumbled a voice that matched the gravel and rock of its surroundings. “You said you wanted to make a down payment? What do you have and what do you need?”
    “Hey Rusty,” said Bronson, holding up both hands to show they were empty. “Money’s in my pocket.”
    “Rusty?” Rowan muttered. It struck her that Rusty was a rather disconcerting, unfortunate name for someone who traded in illegal organs. The moniker evoked in her mind impressions of rusty knives, clumsy stitches, bathtubs filled with ice. It probably wasn’t far from the truth. She winced, feeling a stab of guilt, but stepped back so that Bronson could access a thick white envelope that was zipped inside his vest. Arm extended, he moved toward the car.
    Rusty chuckled and leaned against the hood of his BMW, nonchalantly accepting both the envelope and the handshake