By the time I make it home, I’ve talked myself into ten different circles with fifty different reasons why James didn’t show. I decided to call him again. He already sent me to voicemail, so what’s the worst that could happen?
I take my phone out of my pocket; nine-thirty and no new calls or texts. I bring up his contact and hit call. It rings once before I hear the telltale three-tone sound of a disconnected phone. My fears are confirmed with I hear the robotic woman’s voice. “We’re sorry. Your call cannot be completed.”
I press end and call again, receiving the same three tones and automated message. I end the call and sit on the end of my bed. My legs feel weak as disbelief rolls through my body like a wave.
I look out the window as I mentally replay all of our interactions over the last few months. I thought . . . I thought James really liked me.
I fall back on my bed, one hand splayed on my heart. Is it possible to physically feel your heart breaking?
The rose-colored glasses that I’ve been wearing are cracking; each time we hung out, each laugh and shared playlist feels like a lie.
I thought I was falling in love with him—I thought . . . I thought he felt the same way. But now, I realize how stupid that sounds. Who falls in love with someone in a couple months?
I grab my phone and open up my group message with the girls.
Alaina: Is that invitation to join you guys still good?
I’m not sure anyone or anything could make me feel better, but it’s worth a try. This hurts way more than anyone ever told me it would. Those books got it wrong; heartbreak feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. And someone is pouring acid on the gaping hole.
Tears steadily roll down my cheeks, and a small sob bubbles up my chest. I feel so foolish. To think someone like him could love someone like me.
What was I thinking?
When he didn’t want to introduce me to his friends in Central Park, I thought he was being sweetly possessive, like some character in a romance novel. Now though—now, I realize he didn’t bother introducing us because it didn’t matter—it wasn’t worth it.
I wasn’t worth it.
Why does everyone in my life leave me?
Ninety minutes earlier
Sully
My phone vibrates with a text as I step next to my brother. I slip it out of my pocket to see a message from Alaina.
Punk Rock Princess: Hey! I’m outside O’Malley’s. See you soon!
Fuuckkk. I scrub my hand over my face as regret covers me like a heavy blanket. I should’ve been at the pub twenty minutes ago.
My brother, Rush, discreetly elbows me, nailing me right on my healing ribs. By the smirk tipping his lips, that asshole knew exactly where he was aiming.
While we don’t look anything alike, his chestnut-brown hair and gray eyes to my dark-blonde hair and blue eyes, we’re the same height and similar build.
“Pay attention, fuckers. I’m not getting shot tonight because you two idiots aren’t listening.” Wolf, my other brother, knocks his shoulder into mine. At six foot three with black hair and almost a full sleeve, he’s the oldest of all three of us.
I cut him a warning glare. “Fuck of—”
My da interrupts me. “Something to say, boyo?”
I straighten up to my six-foot-two height and look him in the eye. “No, sir. Ready to show the Russians how we deal with thieves.”
Cormac Fitzpatrick, better known as the Butcher of Summer Knoll gang, and the only father figure I've ever known, chuckles. “That’s the spirit, Sully. Tonight, we show them how the Brotherhood responds to threats on our territory.”
When the men answer his war cry with varying cheers and yells, I pull my phone out of my pocket and type out a quick text to Alaina.
James: I’m sorry. I can’t
Before I can finish my text, my brother grabs my phone and pushes it into my chest, inadvertently sending the text. I don’t have time to worry about it now. The rest of the guys are filing out of the large room we use for meetings and heading down the hallway toward our armory.
Punk Rock Princess: Is this because of what I said this morning?
I wait behind my brothers, letting the low murmur of chatter roll off of me as I replay our conversation from this morning. I was so goddamn distracted by what I knew was going to go down tonight that she took me by surprise when she asked to stay together after summer ends. Like I’d fucking let her go anywhere. Thinking about the way her cheeks flush when she’s nervous—and the other parts of her that flush—has a smile tipping up the corner of my mouth.
I regret not laying it out there for her then and letting her know that there was no way we were done in three weeks when summer break ended. But I had Rush in one ear rattling off numbers and data and other shit that he loves but no one else does.
I’m next in line for my vest and gun when my phone vibrates with a text.
Punk Rock Princess: Is everything okay? Are you hurt?
Before I can text her back, my phone trills “Punk Rock Princess” by Something Corporate—her assigned ringtone. Fuck.
“Boyo! Get up here and get suited up.” There’s no trace of my da right now; it’s the Butcher that yells at me.
I send her to voicemail and send her a quick standard message.
James: Sorry, I can’t talk right now.
I silence my phone and tuck it in my pocket. I grab the vest and 9mm handed to me and walk over to my brothers. I need to get my head in the game. I have no intention of never seeing my beautiful juxtaposition again, she’s an irresistible combination of CBGB and Gossip Girl—shit, she’s like a punk-loving Serena Van Der Whatever. The only reason I didn’t completely hate the King sisters is because they came over and watched a lot of Gossip Girl reruns last year, and Blake Lively is hot as fuck. Plus, Maeve always has the fucking coolest new weapons.
Unfortunately, that means I need to push her to the back of my mind and focus on what’s going to go down tonight.
Hopefully, it’s a quick in-and-out, and I get back to my girl. But if there’s anything I learned about being in the Brotherhood, it’s that you can count on shit going sideways, so you learn to expect the unexpected.
Sweat rolls down the side of my face as my brothers and I carefully make our way through the overgrown weeds and around fallen trees toward the chain-linked fence encasing the abandoned industrial park in Brooklyn.
"You couldn't have pissed before we left, Rush?"
"Fuck off, Wolf. It took me like thirty seconds."
Wolf scoffs in amusement. "Thirty seconds? Bro, you were pissing for at least sixty seconds, right, Sully?"
I swat a bug away from my face and jump over a rotten log. "I don't usually keep track of Rush's dick."
Wolf throws his head back and sighs dramatically. "Whatever. The point is now we're at least a minute behind schedule, and I, for one, don't want to keep Da waiting. So, let's fucking hustle."
According to Buzz, our resident technical genius, this is where the Russians have been hanging out, and this is where we’ll find our shit they stole.
The first notes of “Punk Rock Princess” pierce the air. Shit. Alaina’s calling me. I could’ve sworn I put it on silent. It must’ve gotten jostled when we were crawling around like we’re on the set of Rambo.
“What the fuck, dude?! Turn that shit off before you get us killed!” Wolf’s voice is right behind me.
“Shit. Sorry.” I hold the power button down to turn off my phone.
Rush stops abruptly in front of me, and I walk right into him. He grunts. “Something’s not right.”
I glance around. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why is it so quiet?”
Wolf steps next to me and scoffs. “Look around you, man”—Wolf opens his arms wide—“we’re sneaking around in these shitty woods at eight o’clock on a Friday.”
“Exactly.” Rush glares at him. “Where the fuck is all the noise? I don’t hear a single goddamn cricket or branc
h moving.”
“No shit, man. We don’t want them to hear us.” His eyes widen to emphasize his point. “What’s up with you?”
Adrenaline pumps through my veins and the hair on my arm stands up. I slowly turn in a circle, trying to pinpoint the cause for my unease.
“He’s right, Wolf. It’s too quiet.”
Rush tilts his head. “Do you guys hear that?”
I look to the left and then to the right. “What?”
“Shh!” Wolf steps to my right and cocks his head.
“Is that . . . buzz—”
“Ticking? It sounds like ticking.” Wolf’s eyebrows crease.
“Why the fuck—”
“Fuck me, that’s ticking! We gotta get the fuck outta here!” Wolf interrupts me.
Before Wolf even finishes his sentence, we all turn around and run like the devil himself is on our heels. I’m not ready to meet my maker yet. There’s still shit I want to do—Alaina’s face comes to mind, and I can see with crystal clarity how she looks when she laughs. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“It’s a fucking trap! Get back! Get back, Da!” Rush screams into his phone as we haul ass over fallen branches, uncaring about the noise we’re making.
The ticking stops.
And then everything fucking explodes.
Chapter Seventeen
Alaina
His hands gently hold my sides, his pinkies resting on the curve of my hip and his thumbs sweeping back and forth over my ribs.
His gaze is focused on my throat as he talks. “I went back to the library for three weeks, Alaina. Three fucking weeks, I dragged my sorry ass to the steps and looked for you.”
My heart stutters at his admission, and my hands tremble as they lay against his warm, tattooed skin. I can’t make myself look him in the eye as I reel from the events of that night from his point of view.
“It was—it was a misunderstanding?” I whisper, flicking my gaze to his. His eyes reflect the grief I feel in my limbs as he nods. “But why didn’t you just call me?”
His hands slide up and down my sides at a leisurely pace. I know it should feel a little odd that we’re having this discussion while I’m sitting on his lap—and we’re both naked. But, strangely, it doesn’t. I feel more vulnerable, and my emotions are close to the surface, but it’s the most that Sully’s opened up to me since we’ve reconnected. So, I’m looking at it as a good thing.
“My phone was torched during the ambush, Lainey. And I didn’t save shit right apparently.”
“My dorm?”
He nods before I finish talking. “Aye. I went there, and one of the girls told me you were in Europe with your cousins.”
I swallow the sob that threatens to escape and look at his tattoo along his ribs as I try to make sense of everything. It’s a skull with a knife through the middle, surrounded by flowers. “So much lost time, James. I—I feel so foolish now.”
“Too much, princess. You should’ve given me time to explain.” His chastisement isn’t harsh, but it stings nonetheless. “Though knowing what I know now—about your mom—I understand why you ran.”
I dart my gaze to his. “I didn’t run—”
“Princess. You literally hopped a flight hours later.” He levels me with a disbelieving look.
I stroke the clover tattooed on his neck with my thumb and hold his gaze. “Alright. I can admit that. I—I don’t know why I did that. I was embarrassed and . . .” I shrug. “But why didn’t you have Rush look for me. I’m sure he could have found me.”
“Aye. But I didn’t tell him about you. You were mine—something that belonged to only me, and I didn’t want to share you. Not then.”
My breath hitches at his wordplay. “And now?”
He smooths his hands around my hips to rest on my ass and drags me toward him. I suck in a breath when our chests collide, my nipples pebbling. His cock, thick and hard, rests between our bodies, and lust simmers in my veins, burning out some of the grief and years-old embarrassment.
Running his hands from my ass to my shoulders, Sully whispers against my mouth, “And now you’re mine.” He licks the corner of my mouth and my lips part. “And you’re theirs. Ain’t that right, brother?”
I turn my head to the side, heart in my throat, expecting to see Rush or Wolf, but neither is anywhere behind me. I feel Sully’s lips on my neck as he chuckles. I turn back to him with a mock huff and mutter, “Asshole.”
One of these days, I’m going to have all three of them—at the same time. And if I have it my way, that day is coming sooner rather than later.
“Yeah, but I’m your asshole, princess. I told Wolf to get lost before I even joined you in the shower.” Sully drags his lips down my body until he hovers over my nipple. “Because this moment right here, it’s just for me, yeah?”
He closes his mouth over my nipple and sucks—hard. I feel the pull directly in my clit and my pussy clenches. I reach for his shoulder before I remember that he’s hurt. Pulling back, I mutter, “Your shoulder though. You’re hurt, Sully . . .”
“Fuck my shoulder. I’ve got my girl in my hands again. I’m flying high, princess. Nothing can stop me.”
I don’t care what he says, I’m still not convinced we should be doing this so soon. But then he tugs on my nipple, sending another shot of lust straight to my core, and I forget my own name for a moment.
I grip his good shoulder with one hand and tip my head back, letting him have better access. My damp hair tickles my back and my hips start to roll on instinct. I swivel my hips toward him, and my pussy glides along his hard cock, the tip hitting my clit every time.
He raises his head, his lips wet and shiny, and I meet him halfway for a bruising kiss. We part, foreheads touching, and chests heaving.
This is it—the moment of truth. If he’s going to bail, he would do it now. I mentally prepare myself for his rejection—either polite or cruel. That tiny kernel of hope that lives inside me, etched in his name, grows with every moment that he looks at me with lust and acceptance shining in his eyes.
But I have to be sure.
“Are you mine, James?” My words are low, but I know he hears me over the air conditioning blowing into the room.
“Aye, princess. I’ve always been yours.” He seals his declaration with a kiss that lights up my body all the way down to my toes.
He kisses all the oxygen from my lungs, but I decide that oxygen is overrated.
I can’t stop my hips from rolling against him, desperately seeking friction. It’s like he can read my mind, because in the next moment, he slips his hand in between us, his fingers grazing my clit with featherlight touches. It’s enough to drive me mad.
“I want you to fuck me, James,” I say against his lips, tugging on his bottom lip with my teeth. His hand stills as he pulls back, his gaze searching my face.
I line up our bodies together in a deliberate move, hovering above him so the tip of his cock rests against my pussy. I won’t make the decision for him, but I don’t want him to second-guess my intention.
I’m all-fucking-in with the Fitzgerald boys.
And I’m ready to claim them as mine.
Sully slides his hand up my stomach and between my breasts to rest at the base of my throat in a move that reminds me of Rush. I pant, my eyes half-closed as I wait for him to decide.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” I see it the moment he decides. His eyes light up, and his whole body buzzes.
In the next moment, he gently guides me down onto his hard cock, brows furrowed in concentration. I gasp at the feeling of fullness as he slides me down excruciatingly slow, my eyes fluttering closed on instinct.
His grip tightens around my hip as he stalls our movement. “Eyes on me, princess.”
My eyes flash open, and my pussy clenches at the authoritative tone in his voice.
“Fuck,” he says on a groan. “You like that, yeah?”
I nod several times. “More, James. I need more.”
“You—” I groan, cutting myself off as sweat beads on my brow. He feels too fucking good.
He adjusts his hold so both hands land on my hips, and I squeeze his good shoulder with one hand, the other cupping my breast.
I open my mouth to tell him something—I don’t even know what—but he thrusts up, stealing my breath and all thought.
A gasp leaves my lips, and I slam my eyes closed. I can’t keep them open as overwhelming pleasure spikes along every nerve ending.
“Goddamn, you feel even better than I imagined.”
I open my eyes in time to see him swipe his tongue over his lower lip in a move so sexy it should be fucking outlawed. He gives me a moment to get adjusted to the feel of him, and then I roll my hips, mimicking the movement from earlier. Only this time, it feels so . . . much . . . more.
He groans my name before gripping my hips again, harder this time and encouraging me to ride him faster, harder. Our mouths meet halfway as lust cascades over my body in waves. I lose the rhythm for a moment, stuttering as my pleasure spikes.
Sully takes over and starts fucking me from underneath, and I’m too busy riding that fucking wave to protest about his injury.
“You’re incredible, Alaina. And fuck me if I don’t still fucking love you,” he says through pants and groans, his body taut.
He takes us higher and higher, and when he snakes a hand down to pinch my clit, I free-fall over that peak. I race back down to earth, content to let these waves of desire cover me forever.
Tortured groans punctuate the air, and I fuse my lips to his, desperate to taste his passion—passion that’s mine. I squeeze my muscles around his cock and grin as his breaths turn labored.
Sully: An Irish Mafia Romance (The Brotherhood Book 3) Page 12