He would still like to know when she left the house. She wasn’t a prisoner. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. But he needed to know she was safe.
“You’ve got that look in your eyes.”
“What look?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“The one saying someone is in trouble. It was an impromptu thing, Rogan. Besides, I’m not in any danger so I’m not sure why I need a guard. I guess…unless…” She stared down at her hands, which were clenched together.
“Unless what?”
“Unless it’s because you don’t trust me?”
Rogan reached over and clasped her hands between his. Screw keeping his distance. He’d worry about that later.
“Of course I trust you.”
“I think about it, you know,” she whispered. She raised her head, staring over his shoulder.
“Think about what?” he asked, staring at her, his dinner forgotten.
“Oblivion. I think about how easy it would be to sneak off and buy something to help me find oblivion again. Then I wouldn’t be in this constant battle with myself. It’s like I’m two different people sometimes. One half of me keeps repeating how everything is too hard. How much easier life would be if I could find that happy place where I didn’t worry or care about anything. How much better I would feel if I gave in. The other half is saying how weak I am for thinking that. It’s the coward’s way out. I’m supposed to be a fighter, not a goddamn loser.”
God, her pain clawed at him, demanding he fix this. But he couldn’t. Only time, therapy, and Miller could fix this. But he could support her. Whatever she needed, he would give her—well, within reason. He would never enable her to harm herself. Or put herself down.
“First of all, you are not a loser. Nor are you weak. Next time you call yourself either of those, I’m going to get strict with you.”
She gave him a small smile. “What are you going to do? Take away my pocket money?”
Inwardly, he winced. Her lack of money was a sore point. For her, anyway. He had set her up with a bank card and an account. But she hated using his money.
“You know I don’t see things like that.”
“Why not? I haven’t done anything to earn the money. In fact, all I do is sit around here and mooch off you.”
He scowled. “You do not mooch off me.”
“No? Then what would you call it? I already owe you more than I can probably ever repay for all the therapy and the rehab. Not to mention room and board.”
Room and board? She wasn’t his goddamn lodger.
“I’ll be lucky if anyone hires me again. Who would want a druggie?”
“You are not a druggie. You were held and drugged against your will.”
“So I’m a victim. Great.” He didn’t like the bitterness in her voice.
“Way I see it you can sit around and feel sorry for yourself. Think your life is over.” He shrugged. “I guess you’re entitled to the pity party.”
“Pity party?” She bristled with anger. God, she was gorgeous in a temper. Her eyes sparkled, her face flushing.
She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
“Or you can take charge of your life. Learn from what happened and move on.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “But I believe you’re strong enough to do it.”
She studied him for a long moment. “So can I work for you?”
Over his dead body. “What?”
“I used to be a personal assistant. I could help you. Take some of the load off. I’m organized, reliable, and I can be on call 24/7.”
“No.”
She frowned. A hint of hurt flashed across her face before she closed down on him. Okay, maybe he’d been a bit abrupt. But, seriously, what was she thinking? She knew what he did for a living and she wanted to be part of that?
Not happening.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she told him in a guarded voice. She watched him warily.
He sighed. Earning her trust wasn’t an easy thing. Sometimes it felt like two steps forward, one step back. Who could blame her? She’d been abandoned by those supposed to protect her. Used and discarded.
It was a wonder she could trust at all.
“What’s that?” he asked. He doubted she had any idea what he was thinking half the time.
Because if she knew the things he thought about her, the things he wanted to do to her, she’d run a mile in the opposite direction.
“That you can’t trust me with your business. But I know you have a lot of legitimate interests. I could be involved with the legal side of things.”
Someone had been talking. He had a good guess who, too.
“How do you know about my businesses?”
She blushed slightly then sighed. “You’ll get angry.”
“Have you ever seen me get angry over anything?”
Miller watched him carefully. “Not really. You don’t yell or act mad. But you get this cold look in your eyes. It’s not obvious unless you know what to look for.”
Well, maybe she knew him better than he thought she did. He wasn’t sure he was comfortable with being so easy to read.
“I’m good at reading people. When I lived with my father, I learned to quickly figure out which of his business associates were the dangerous ones. Who I needed to avoid.”
He clenched his hands, furious at her father for not protecting her better, for allowing ruthless criminals to come into contact with an innocent child.
“See, there it is,” she told him. “You’re angry. Furious.”
“Your parents should have protected you.”
“Like you would your child?” she asked.
“I will never have children.”
She tipped her head to one side. “Because you think they’d be at risk.”
“Anyone close to me is in danger.”
“Really? Because I feel the safest I ever have. Think about my offer, Rogan. I want to help. I want to feel useful.”
“I cannot allow my life to touch yours, Miller.”
She smiled sadly. “But, don’t you see? I’m already in that world. There’s no way out.”
“You could leave. Start a new life. Find a guy like Dylan. Lead a life like Tilly’s.”
Miller shook her head. “No. Once I thought I could lead a normal life. But I don’t even know where to begin. I’m not like Tilly or Natalya. I can’t trust easily. I’m always waiting for people to let me down, to leave me. I had a boyfriend once. Normal guy. Good job, nice manners. He was sweet.”
Rogan ground his teeth. The last thing he wanted was to hear about her past love life.
“But I drove him off. I couldn’t let him close. I couldn’t talk to him. Funny, I don’t have that problem with you.”
Because she was right. They were alike. There were less than a handful of people he trusted. Even fewer he opened up to. And since Brandt’s betrayal, he even doubted his relationship with those few.
Brandt hadn’t agreed with his decision to make them more legit. To not sell Fizz for the Fuerte cartel. It would have been a lucrative deal, but Rogan didn’t hold with pushing drugs to kids. So he’d refused.
Now, Brandt was dead. But Rogan was left feeling his instincts were off, wondering who he could really trust.
“Think about the offer.”
He could think all he liked. But he’d never take her up on it. Protecting Miller was as vital to him as breathing.
“What did you want to do when you were a child?” he asked.
She pursed her lips, thinking.
“I wanted to be a pilot. Then a firefighter. And a hairdresser. Then a singer. Unfortunately, I sound like two cats fighting when I sing.”
“But if you could do anything in the world?”
“Besides be president?” she asked dryly. “I don’t know. Something creative, maybe. Like photography.”
He raised his eyebrows. Unexpected. “Maybe you should consider taking some sort of p
hotography course.”
Miller narrowed her gaze. “You’re trying to keep me busy.”
Yep. Then she might forget about her crazy idea to work for him.
She shrugged. “Whatever. I only offered to help you because you’ve helped me. If you don’t need my help, it’s no biggie. I’ll find another job.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Can’t sit around getting fat and lazy.”
Fat and lazy? Despite the weight she’d gained, she was still so tiny he feared a strong wind would push her over.
“You don’t want me under your feet forever. The sooner I get a job; the sooner I can start moving on with my life.”
Without him.
The thought of her leaving left him panicky. Nothing panicked him.
The door to the kitchen opened and Cillian walked in. He nodded at Miller. Cillian was more close-lipped than Colm. Maybe he should swap their duties. He’d assigned Colm to Miller because she felt more at ease around the large Scot. Cillian wasn’t as friendly or approachable.
“Boss. Miller.” He stood there and waited.
“Umm, I guess I’ll go to bed. Night.” Miller left the room.
Rogan waited until he was certain they were alone before turning back to Cillian. “What did Bishop have to say?”
“The cops have made an identification on the body pulled from Lake Medina,” Cillian told him. “It’s Gerard Callahan.”
Fuck. This was all he needed.
“Are the police releasing the information?” Bishop was their police informant. He worked as a detective for the Chicago PD and collected a nice fee from Rogan as an informant.
“Not yet. But his son knows. They told him this afternoon.”
Step Callahan was Gerard’s son and the current leader of the Seven Sinners.
“Do they know how he died?”
“Gunshot wound to the chest. Damned if I know how they figured the cause of death out after all these years.”
Crap. It didn’t surprise him Gerard Callahan had been murdered. Callahan had been an asshole. The former leader of the Seven Sinners had made some enemies in his drive for power.
There were a number of people who could have killed him. What worried Rogan was that his father was one of those people.
And if his old man had offed Gerard Callahan, then his sonwould be out for retribution. He wouldn’t let this lie.
“What do you want to do?” Cillian asked.
“Wait.” Callahan didn’t know for sure what had happened or he’d have come for him. “Bishop knows to keep his ear to the ground. He’ll tell us if anything comes up.”
Like evidence linking his father to Gerard’s murder.
Miller threw the ugly dressing gown on the floor of her bedroom as she paced back and forth. The gown had been useless as a barrier. She still wanted Rogan. Badly. When he’d pulled her close, she’d felt his warmth and the scent of him had surrounded her, making her nearly succumb to her need and beg him to take her to bed.
Shit. Perhaps she better brush up on her cooking skills.
Sleeping with him would be unwise. Sleeping with him would change everything. She wouldn’t be able to live here anymore.
But it was getting harder and harder to live here anyway. To see him day after day and not touch him, kiss him, tackle him to the floor, and have her way with him.
She held her hands over her hot cheeks, trying to cool down.
She prayed he had no idea about her feelings for him.
How humiliating would that be?
He’d been right to turn her down. Working for him would have been disastrous. She wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking.
“You thought you’d still have a tie to him when you had to leave here. You thought it was a way to see him every day.”
She couldn’t stay here forever. Eventually, Rogan would ask her to leave. He’d grow sick of her. Everyone did. Well, except for Tilly. She was the only person Miller could rely on. The only person who had never abandoned her.
Miller needed to prepare herself to stand on her own two feet. Find a job, get some money.
Time to take charge of her life again.
Time to stop being a victim.
Chapter Three
Miller sat on the plush bed, running her hand over the soft, silky bedspread as she stared out the window. Outside the day was beautiful, the sun shining. People would be going to work, going to school. Getting on with their lives.
So why the hell couldn’t she?
Poor sleep, lack of purpose, the stress of wondering what the hell she would do when Rogan finally grew sick of her and kicked her out were all getting to her.
Deep breath in. Then out.
Maybe she should take this meditation shit seriously.
Because being out of control of her body really sucked.
She glanced over at the camera on the bedside table. Rogan claimed he’d bought it for himself and never used it, but she knew he was lying to her. He knew she’d put up a fuss if she knew he’d bought it especially for her.
It was high-end. Expensive. Something she’d never be able to afford. She didn’t even know how to use it properly.
But her hands itched to pick it up and start playing.
It will never pay the bills.
She’d once told her grandmother she wanted to be a famous photographer. The old woman had cackled then told her dreams were for rich people. She’d better lower her expectations or she’d spend her whole life being disappointed.
But what else did she have to occupy herself with?
Hmm, let’s see. Breakfast. Nothing. Lunch. Then more nothing. Dinner. Then bed. Yep, she had a bit of spare time.
Sweat broke out on her body as need rushed through her. She gritted her teeth, fighting the trembling.
Sneak out. Find what you need. Give in.
No! She was stronger than that.
Suck it up, Miller. There are people out there worse off than you. She was alive. She was somewhat healthy. Thanks to Rogan, she had a roof over her head, food in her belly, and clothes on her back.
Accepting help from others went against the grain.
But she didn’t have much choice. Not yet. Not until she had more self-control.
While she’d never have taken Fizz voluntarily, it was highly addictive, and once she’d gotten a taste of oblivion she’d loved it. Craved it.
Reaching into the bedside table drawer, she pulled out a silver locket and ran her thumb over the photo inside. It was grainy black-and-white, but she could still see the resemblance.
“Mom, I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out who killed you.”
She didn’t know why she cared so much. Her mother had left her.
“Time to let it go. Time to stop wondering.”
Putting the locket back, she grabbed the camera and left the room, striding down the stairs past Colm, who was walking up them.
“Miller? Are you okay?”
Nope. No, I’m really, really not.
“I’m going to take photos of flowers.” Not her first choice of subject, but it would provide a much-needed distraction.
“I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“All part of the service.”
She turned to find Colm grinning down at her.
“I’m not going to sneak off and get a fix,” she snapped.
He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Then why can’t I have some goddamn space?” She wanted to be by herself.
Colm’s face hardened. “The boss wants you protected.”
“This place has more alarms and cameras than Fort Knox. There’s always someone out patrolling the grounds. I’m safer here than anywhere else.”
Colm studied her for a moment. “I’m not leaving you out there alone.” He raised his hand as she went to protest. “But I’ll watch from the porch and I’ll talk to the boss about giving you more space in the future, okay?”
It was the best she’d get from the overprotective Scot.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be a problem.” She had to remember not to make waves. She didn’t want to do anything to make Rogan regret his offer to let her stay.
“No problem.” Colm smiled. “You’re a guest.”
Yes, just a guest. Remember, Miller.
Nothing more than a guest.
***
“Who are you going to name as your second?”
Rogan glanced over at his cousin Aedan who lounged back in his chair, feet resting on the corner of the desk.
“Get your feet off my desk,” he growled.
Aedan sighed, ignoring him. “Why don’t we go have a cigar and a drink?”
They were in Rogan’s office at Underworld, his private men’s club.
Underworld was where he came to relax. Usually. Most people probably thought it was a strip club, sleazy and dirty. Instead, it was more like a giant playground for men, with a bowling alley, a bar, a cigar room, and game room.
“I’m working.”
“Which is why you need a second. So you can delegate. Then you can come play with me.” Aedan grinned at him.
“Maybe you need to play less and work more.”
“Nope. Since Natalya and Mateo have come into my life, work has taken a backseat.”
“So why aren’t you with them?”
“Natalya is worried about you. She thinks you’re working too much.”
Rogan stared over at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yep.” Aedan’s eyes sparkled. “She wants me to make sure you’re looking after yourself. She thinks you’re upset by what happened with Brandt.”
“Upset? Is this the same woman who once hated me?”
“Yep. I’m to report back how you’re doing and, if my report isn’t to her satisfaction, you’ll have her here checking up on you next.”
Lord help him.
“So, are you well, Rogan? Are you taking your vitamins? Eating three meals a day? Do you need a hug?” Aedan teased.
“Shut up,” Rogan growled.
“Seriously, though, you do need a second.”
Rogan shook his head. “I’m fine. Thank Natalya for being concerned, but I don’t need any help.”
Aedan scowled. “Just because Brandt was a scumbag asshat who betrayed you doesn’t mean there aren’t people you can trust. You can’t do everything yourself.”
Redemption (Cavan Gang #2) Page 4