He had to release her to do what he was going to do next, but considering she still had a grip of steel on his hand, he knew she needed that connection. He got close, lifted her hand to his chest, pried her fingers from his and then pressed her hand, palm flat against his heart.

“Stick with me,” he murmured.

She was staring up at him and nodding.

She kept her hand where it was as he reached to the cupboard for a shot glass, nabbed it, opened the Fireball and poured her a shot.

He covered her fingers over his heart with one hand as he held the glass to her with the other.

“Shoot this,” he instructed.

“I…I can’t. Smithie doesn’t like us to drink on the job. And I…Danny, I gotta get to the club.”

She wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Evie, you’re not dancing tonight.”

Her eyes got large.

He ignored that and repeated, “Drink this. Fast. It’ll warm you up, smooth you out.”

She shook her head. “I have to get to Smithie’s.”

“Baby, right now, you need to look after you and Smithie’d be the first person to say that. Now take the shot and let’s—”

“I can’t lose out on my tips.”

“Evie—”

“I need my tips.”

“Honey—”

“I think I need a new TV and…and…” She took a deep breath, and he thought she was doing it to get her shit together, but then she screamed, “Everything!”

He set the glass down and rounded her with his free arm, wrapping his fingers around her hand at his chest and keeping hold.

It was a good call.

She lost it.

Tears and struggling.

“Calm down, honey,” he murmured, trying to contain her struggles without hurting her.

“It’s all gone!” she cried.

“I know it’s a lot to ask right now but you need to chill out, Evie. We’re gonna sort this.”

She suddenly stopped moving except to tip her head back, her pretty, warm brown eyes shining with tears, and she screeched, “Everything I worked for! Gone!”

Yeah.

It was gone.

Her cute, personality-plus boho pad.

Her clothes.

Her trunk jacked open on her car.

Even her medicine cabinet and linen closet had been raided.

All because of her fucking brother.

He let her go and lifted his hands out to the sides.

“Okay, then let it out,” he offered. “Hit me. Wail on me. Scream in my face. That shit was fucked up and you need to let it go, so let it out, Evie. Hit me with it. I can take it.”

She stared at him several long beats, but in the end, she didn’t pound on his chest or shout in his face.

She crumbled.

Mag caught her.

She sobbed against his chest, shoving her face in while she was doing it, her fingers latched onto his tee at his sides, twisting it so he could feel the fabric tighten against his skin.

Maybe Brock or Mitch, Hank or Eddie getting Mag in to see her brother wasn’t a good thing considering, in that moment, he’d gladly beat the absolute shit out of him.

“I don’t…I-I don’t have renter’s insurance,” she wailed against his chest.

Fabulous.

She tipped her head back and showed him her pretty face was still pretty, even red and wet with tears.

“They’ve got the drugs, Danny.”

“I’m gonna sort it out,” he told her.

“How?” she cried. “They’re gonna hurt Mick.”

Someone was gonna hurt Mick, and he had no issue with this.

In fact, he wanted to be first in line.

Before he could say anything, she tore from his arms, taking two steps back, shouting, “God! It doesn’t matter, does it? It just doesn’t matter!”

“What doesn’t matter?” he asked quietly.

She threw out both arms wildly. “Anything. Anything I do. How hard I work. How low I have to go to crawl out from under the piles of shit life lands on me. Do you know what my dad’s solution to this problem was?”

“No,” he answered cautiously, though he knew by her face whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it.

“Take that bag to his house and he’d unload those drugs. Eighty-twenty split. He gets the eighty, of course,” she said snidely.

Yeah.

He didn’t like it.

Jesus.

Seemed like her dad was worse than her brother.

“Evie—”

She rushed him but not to get close or fall back into his arms.

To nab the shot of Fireball.

Once she tossed it back, in their current scenario, he really did not want to think about how cute she was when she breathed out dramatically with her eyes going big, but it had to be said, she was cute.

She slammed the glass down on his counter and looked up at him.

“Okay, that didn’t work. I don’t feel very smoothed out,” she announced.

“Evan,” he whispered.

Her face started crumpling, but she drew in a sudden breath through her nose and shook her head angrily.

“Right so…right,” she began confusingly. Then, unfortunately, she said more words, ones that made sense, just not ones he liked hearing. “So I’ll go to Smithie’s and I’ll slither all over his stage and stick my ass in strange men’s faces and earn their bills. I’ll ask if he’ll give me another shift, maybe two, every week, and after, oh, I don’t know, a year of that, I’ll be able to replace my furniture, my TV, my dishes. But enrolling for summer semester is out of the question. Again.”

For the first time, he wished he hadn’t unloaded all his crap after he bought Mo’s. He’d had a couch. And a recliner.

At least she’d have somewhere to sit.

“I need to…to call Smithie, tell him I’m gonna be late,” she declared.

“You can’t go to work tonight, Evie,” he told her. “You’re in a state.”

And you might be in danger, he did not finish verbally.

“You saw my place, Danny. I can’t not go to work.”

“Yes, you can, because for the time being, you’re gonna be staying here.”

She blinked.

It just came out of his mouth.

But now that it was out, he liked the idea.

A whole lot.

If she was close, he could keep an eye on her.

“I’ll talk to your apartment manager. Get you out of your lease,” he said. “Mo’s bed is still in his room. If you don’t have rent to pay, you can save to set yourself back up, and you’ll have a TV you can watch and a place to sleep.”

She stood unmoving and stared at him, those brown eyes again huge.

And cute.

“Now, I’m gonna call Smithie and let him know you’re not gonna be in tonight and why,” he continued. “You’re gonna get hammered if you want. Or I’m gonna get whatever food you want delivered and you’re gonna eat yourself into a food coma. Or, if you got more crying to do, you can have at it. Or all three. But you’re not stripping tonight. You’re lookin’ after you ’cause I’m gonna be looking after you.”

“I can’t move in here,” she said.

“You can and you are,” he returned.