The brothers stopped mid-search to look his way.
“Are ye sure?” Fergus asked, frowning.
“Aye. Don’t ye remember the last time that she was pregnant? We had to take turns stealing pastries from the baker after Tadgh was killed,” he reminded them. In retrospect, that was probably a bad idea considering the fact that he’d broken their agreement after that incident and helped Tadgh, again….and again…..and this last time would make three times he’d helped Tadgh since he’d promised not to.
“You mean when we were all forced to watch Macha die from a broken heart……..again?” Liam asked, his glare moving from Tristan to him.
“He tricked me this last time,” Shayne bit out, which was true.
Tadgh had tricked them all into believing that he’d finally had enough and was going to leave Macha alone and give her the peace that she rightly deserved, but he’d lied. He’d led them all to believe that he needed time and space to get through finally letting her go and they’d all foolishly given it to him. Not that they’d quite believed him.
They’d kept a guard on Macha’s soul as best as they could and when they’d felt that she was ready to be born again they’d followed her soul. Once she’d successfully made it into the unborn fetus, they’d searched for Tadgh. They expected him to try and follow after her, but they never found him. For a couple of years they’d watched over Macha until they felt that the likelihood of Tadgh trying anything was slim.
The last time they’d checked on her, she’d been three years old. They all loved her and agreed that the temptation to interfere in her life and protect her was too much. To be honest, none of them had been able to stomach the idea of seeing her with someone else. She belonged with Tadgh. The problem was this goddamn curse that kept them all trapped in this never-ending cycle of bullshit.
Somehow they managed to walk away from Macha, wishing her the best and praying that Tadgh wouldn’t do something stupid like torturing himself by watching over her. Shayne couldn’t imagine being forced to watch over his soul mate and not being able to touch her, take care of her, and having to be forced to watch as another man took his place. Then again, he avoided his soul mate like the plague, so he really didn’t have to worry about torturing himself. Tadgh on the other hand….
Couldn’t stay away from Macha and they should have realized that their younger brother would have found a way to get past them. Shayne still wasn’t sure how Tadgh managed to pull it off without any of them finding out. It was only by pure luck that Shayne had discovered Tadgh living across the street from Macha all those years ago.
He still couldn’t believe how fucking stupid Tadgh had been to do it. What the hell had he been thinking? He knew what waited for him and he still did it, uncaring about the hell that he was going to put himself through. Eleven years without any type of protection or buffer from spirits too desperate for the lives that they’d lost to care about what they put a young child through was a dangerous way to live. To be honest, Shayne was still surprised that Tadgh hadn’t been killed or found himself locked up in a mental hospital by then.
“I’ll go get her some apple pastries,” Declean offered, stepping away from the counter to do just that.
“She’s partial to apple fritters,” Shayne suggested absently as a thought occurred to him. Then with a sigh and a muttered, “I’ll be right back,” he left the room.
When he materialized in Tristan’s room a few seconds later, he wasn’t entirely surprised to find Marty dressed, armed, and seriously pissed off. He wasn’t even surprised when she raised the large gun in his direction and aimed it directly where his heart had once beat.
What did surprise him, and apparently Marty as well if her high-pitched squeal was any indication, was the bloodied spirit of a man stumbling through her bedroom wall.
With a muttered, “Oh, shit,” Marty swung the gun in the direction of the spirit.
“Oh, my God! Don’t shoot!” the man cried, throwing his hands up into the air as he stumbled back away from Marty and making Shayne shake his head in disgust.
“Yer already dead, ye dumb bastard!” he snapped at the man as he turned his attention back to Marty, who he noted was turning an interesting shade of green.
“Don’t….d……don’t mo-“ she struggled to get out.
“Move?” Shayne finished for her with a helpless shrug.
He really wasn’t too shocked when she opened her mouth, definitely to tell him to fuck off, but instead clamped a hand over her mouth, muttered, “Oh, shit,” and ran to the bathroom. With a sigh, he followed her.
As Marty struggled to keep the gun aimed on him as she lost what was left of her dinner, he couldn’t help but smile. It had been a long time since he’d had the chance to spend any real time with her. Granted, having a gun aimed at his balls while her dinner made a second appearance probably wouldn’t qualify as quality time to most people, but he’d gladly take it.
He missed the nights they used to spend by the fire, long after everyone else had fallen asleep, talking and laughing while they pretended that everything would work out. If it hadn’t been for Tadgh, he probably would have made her his own. Their union wouldn’t have been based on romantic love, happily ever after and all that bullshit, but one of respect and friendship. There was no doubt in his mind that he never would have made her as happy as Tadgh could, but he would have kept her safe. Considering everything that had happened, maybe he should have done just that.
Chapter 27
“Stay where you are,” Marty said as she struggled to keep the gun aimed on the man in front of her when all she wanted to do was lie down, close her eyes and curl up into a ball in Tristan’s arms until the nausea and dizziness went away so that she could pretend that none of this had ever happened.
“How are ye feeling, lass?” the man asked softly, acting unconcerned about the gun currently aimed at his family jewels and probably for good reason, Marty realized.
“And if I shot you…..” she prompted, already having a good idea what the answer would be.
“It wouldn’t affect me at all, lass,” he said with a careless shrug.
With a sigh, she lowered the gun, noting that he didn’t seem to care one way or the other that the gun was no longer aimed on him, further confirming her suspicions. The man could disappear, move through walls and God only knew what else, so it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out that her one and only weapon would be useless against him.
“Where’s my husband?” she asked, trying to mask her fear for Tristan.
She still couldn’t get over the sight of him being thrown across the room and slamming into the wall like that. He shouldn’t have been able to move after that, but somehow he’d managed to crawl towards her before he passed out. He had to be okay, he had to be, she told herself as she tried to remain calm.
“He’s downstairs with my brothers,” the man said slowly, sounding as though he was choosing his words carefully.
“I see,” she said absently with a small nod as she tried to wrap her mind around everything that had happened in the last few hours. Not only wasn’t she crazy, but apparently she could see ghosts. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do with that information so she decided to focus on getting them to leave. She raised her gun and pulled the trigger, taking him by surprise.
“What the bloody hell did ye do that for?” he demanded, startled, but in no way harmed by the bullet that passed through him.
“Would you have allowed me to use the phone?” she asked, dropping the gun on the ground so that she could tighten her hold on the sheet wrapped around her.
Frowning, he shook his head. “Of course not. Ye’d only call for-“
“Help,” she finished for him as she headed for the door, shooting him a glare that dared him to stop her. Ghost or not, she would kick his ass if he tried to stop her from going to Tristan.
“Ah, hell!” he groaned, disappearing before she reached the door.
Knowing that thi
s might be her only chance, she didn’t bother stopping to change her clothes. She rushed towards the bedroom door, praying that she got to Tristan before they could disappear with him. She just hoped that the gunshot did its job and that her father and Tom were on their way to-
“Please, you have to help me!” the bloodied man that she’d somehow forgotten about demanded as he grabbed hold of her wrists. Seconds later he made her pray for death as pure dread and ice cold fear shot through her.
*-*-*-*
“Calm the fuck down, lad!”
“Get the cuffs the fuck off me, Shayne!” Tristan snapped, gritting his teeth and slamming himself back into the wall, chair and all.
He ignored the throbbing in his head and the fact that each breath he took was accompanied by searing pain and slammed back against the wall again and again until he felt the chair finally break apart. His hands were still cuffed tightly behind his back, but as long as he could move he didn’t give a damn. He needed to get to Marty and he needed to get to her now.
“I told ye that she was alright,” Shayne explained quickly as he reached out and grabbed hold of Tristan by his shoulders to steady him when he stumbled.
Tristan shook him off and moved past Shayne, ignoring the large bastards standing around his kitchen, glaring at him. He didn’t know who or what they were and right now he didn’t care. He’d deal with them later, but for right now he needed to see Marty with his own eyes and touch her to know that she was okay.
“Lad, she’s fine!” Shayne said, appearing in front of him and looking him over, his expression becoming concerned seconds before it turned accusing. “Ye could have killed him, ye dumb bastard!”
The larger of the men suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway, his glare locked on Tristan as he leaned back against the doorframe. “That’s the plan.”
“Well it’s a dumb fucking plan!” Shayne snapped, shifting between Tristan and the large man who looked ready to carry out that plan with his bare hands, but Tristan didn’t have the patience or time to deal with this bullshit. He pushed past Shayne and the large bastard that he was going to beat the shit out of later. He headed for the stairs when the bastard’s next words, and the four men that suddenly appeared in front of him and grabbed him, stopped him.
“Ye didn’t seem to think so fifty years ago,” the large man announced, shooting Shayne a smug look.
“Things were different back then, Liam,” Shayne shot back.
“Unless the curse suddenly changed in the last fifty years, I would say that they’re exactly the same,” the man named Liam who looked so much like Shayne, Tristan now realized, said tightly, his brogue becoming more pronounced with each word.
An uneasy feeling crept up his spine, but he pushed it aside. He had more important matters to attend to, like his wife who was upstairs and finding out why she’d fired a gun. It had done a damn good job of waking him up and taking about ten years off of his life. The only thing that was stopping him from completely losing it was Shayne. If Marty was hurt, Shayne would be doing everything in his power to help her.
“Get. The. Fuck. Off. Me!” he snapped, emphasizing each word as he struggled to get free.
“Calm yerself, lad,” one of the men said.
“This is for the best,” another one of them said, but he wasn’t listening. At least he wasn’t listening to them, but to the heart-wrenching scream that tore through the house.
Fear shot down his spine and he swore that his heart stopped beating when he realized that it was Marty screaming. It was like nothing he’d ever heard before. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but one second he was standing in the kitchen, struggling to get to Marty and the next he was in their bedroom, his arms free and wrapped around Marty as she shook and cried in his arms.
“Ye son of a bitch!” he heard someone yell.
“No! Please, don’t! I didn’t mean to hurt her!” a new voice cried.
He pressed a kiss against the top of Marty’s head as he looked up and watched while Shayne and the six men who seemed determined to rid the world of him, circled around a man soaked in blood. Marty’s fingers dug into his skin. She held on tightly to him as she sobbed against his bad shoulder.
“Tristan!” he heard his father yell, followed closely by Hank yelling for Marty. Pressing another kiss against Marty’s hair, he picked her up, ignoring the agonizing pain in his head and shoulder, and headed for the door.
“Don’t do anything stupid, lad,” Liam warned as Tristan walked past him.
“Fuck off, asshole,” he said, shifting Marty in his arms as he headed for the door.
“I know yer pissed, lad, but I need ye to get rid of them,” Shayne said, appearing a few feet in front of them.
“Fine,” Tristan said, already knowing that he didn’t have much of a choice. The men could follow him anywhere and probably would until they got what they wanted. He had no problems with facing them head on, but he did have a huge problem with his wife being caught in the middle of it. “I’ll send her home with her father and then you can tell me what’s going on.”
“Ye can’t send her away!” Shayne said, sounding close to panicking.
“Watch me,” Tristan bit out, stepping around Shayne only to have the man shift right back in front of him, but this time he was flanked by two of the other men.
“We can’t let ye do that, Tadgh,” the man standing at Shayne’s right said.
“That’s not my fucking name!” Tristan snapped, having had enough of this bullshit. He moved to step around the trio when Shayne’s next words stopped him.
“We need to protect her, little brother,” Shayne said softly, taking him by surprise and making his already fucked up head spin faster.
“What did you call me?” he asked, sure that he’d misheard him.
With a sad smile, Shayne reached out and took Marty from him. “We need to have a talk, lad, but first we need ye to go say goodbye to yer father and Hank,” Shayne explained quietly, shifting Marty in his arms as he stepped to the side so that Tristan could pass by him.
It wasn’t until he was halfway down the stairs that Shayne’s words hit him. He stopped and turned around to face Shayne, frightened for Marty.
“She’ll not be harmed, lad. Trust me,” Shayne said, reassuring him before he could ask for it.
“Can I?” Tristan demanded, hating the fact that, for the first time in years, he just wasn’t sure.
“Always,” Shayne said firmly as he walked away with Marty curled up in his arms.
“Let’s go, Tadgh,” one of the men said as he joined him on the stairs and tossed a grey tee shirt to him.
“It’s Tristan,” he murmured, shooting one last glance at Shayne’s retreating back before heading down the stairs as he carefully pulled the tee shirt on.
“Tristan!” Hank shouted as he walked down the hall towards the front door, his weapon drawn and Tom hot on his heels as the two men quickly made their way towards him.
“Where’s Marty?” Hank demanded.
“She’s upstairs lying down. What’s going on?” he asked, pretending that he didn’t know exactly what brought them here.
“That’s good, lad, really good,” the man that had followed him downstairs said with an approving nod.
“What’s going on?” his father repeated in disbelief, sharing a confused look with Hank. “We heard a gunshot that’s what’s going on!”
Tristan shrugged. “Didn’t hear a thing.”
“You didn’t hear it?” Hank repeated, frowning as he looked past Tristan towards the stairs.
“No,” Tristan said in a bored tone as he gestured to the door. “But, I’ll call Green and have him check into it.”
“Already called him,” Hank said with a sigh as he put his gun away. “Sorry that we woke you up. Give Marty my love.”
“Will do,” Tristan said, relieved when the men started for the door.
When his father shot him a wink and started out the door, he almost stopped him and pulled him int
o his arms so that he could tell the man how much he loved him and appreciated everything that he’d done for him, but somehow he held back. He didn’t know what was going on and he wasn’t sure how far these men were planning on taking this. He wasn’t about to thank his father for everything he’d done for him by putting him in danger.
He wasn’t that much of an asshole.
Chapter 28
“Are ye all right, lass?” the voice with the light Irish brogue that made her feel protected and safe asked as a cold cloth was pressed against her forehead.
“No,” she said with an embarrassing sniffle. She definitely was not okay. Confused? Scared? Embarrassed? Dizzy? Close to vomiting? Yes, she was all of those things, but the one thing that she was definitely not was fine.
“Declean, did ye get the fritters?” another man, whose voice was slightly deeper and sexier, asked.
“They were out,” she heard a man mumble and she considered opening her eyes to see who spoke, but that would only cause more problems like more vomiting, doing something embarrassing like passing out, or losing it again. Was that…..bitch slapping that she was hearing? Yup, she was pretty sure that there were currently ghosts in her room bitch slapping each other from the sounds of it.
“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Declean demanded, sounding like he was pouting. Why that made her lips twitch, she didn’t know. Maybe it was part of a mental breakdown?
“Cause ye didn’t get the lass her baked goods, ye lazy bastard!” another one snapped, followed by the sounds of more bitch slapping.
“Hit me again, Fergus and I’ll-Ow!”
“Stop yer bitching and go get the lass something to eat!”
“What am I supposed to get her then?”
“Apples?” someone suggested, sounding hopeful.
“Oh, God,” she muttered, her stomach doing backflips at the mere suggestion of her favorite snack.
“Ye dumb bastard! Ye know that she can’t eat apples when she’s pregnant!”
A heavy sigh was followed by, “Aye, yer right. Then what are we supposed to get for her?”
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