by A. Zavarelli
“Thank you, butterfly.”
“No biggie.” I clear my throat. “You should all probably get some antibiotics though.”
“Ronan’s on it,” he says. “Now, if ye don’t mind tending to my mates.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I assure him. “You get some rest.”
He nods and I slip away, but as I clean and patch up his men, he never takes his focus off of me. It isn’t suspicion this time, but something else in the depths of those gray eyes. Something that makes my belly flutter and my heart beat just a little bit faster.
When it’s all over, I head to the kitchen to see what Conor came up with. There’s a stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches waiting on a plate, and he’s snoring like a baby propped against the refrigerator.
I grab the sandwiches and cut them into two triangles out of habit and get a sharp little pang in my chest when I remember why. Talia and I used to share sandwiches this way. She insisted they tasted better when they were cut diagonally instead of vertically. She was right, of course.
I close my eyes and get a grip before taking the plate out and passing them around. The guys take them eagerly and chow down while I take the last one and head for Lachlan. I pause halfway and wiggle it in his direction in question.
“Come here to me,” he says.
I take a step closer, and he pries the plate from my hands and sets it on the table beside him. Then he reaches up and grabs me around the waist and tugs me straight into his lap. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, along with the scent that’s uniquely his. How he can still smell good after bleeding all over the place and taking part in a gun fight, I’ll never know.
“Do we need to talk about tonight?” he asks.
Despite his half-drunken state, he’s got a clear enough head to initiate this conversation. His expression is serious, appraising, and I have no doubts he’ll remember every word I say come tomorrow. I stare down at my heels and kick them off, wiggling my toes as I think about my answer. Logic tells me there’s only one thing I can really say. I know what Lachlan’s capable of. I knew it before I ever got involved with all of this. I’m not going to change that, and neither is anything I say. So for my self-preservation, and to build trust, I tell him the only thing I can.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Crow. What happened tonight?”
He grips me by the chin and gives me a drunken lopsided grin. “Ye’re a clever girl, Mack. I like that about you.”
“Yeah, well can’t say I’m surprised,” I mutter. “Most of the chicks you bang probably don’t have two brain cells to rub together. You like to get in and out, am I right?”
A dark look passes over his face and the arm that’s wrapped around my waist pulls me a little tighter. “Ye know this changes things, butterfly.”
I look away, knowing he’s right. I saw something tonight that I wasn’t supposed to. Something that makes Lachlan vulnerable. And there’s a whole philosophy about that with organized crime syndicates. The philosophy is that the vulnerability always disappears.
“What do you want me to say, Lach?”
“I need to know I can trust ye, sweetheart. That’s all.”
There’s something different in his voice. More urgent. He doesn’t want to have to hurt me. I look into his eyes and steel myself. Lying shouldn’t be a problem for me. I’m here for Talia. That’s the only reason.
But it’s more complicated than that and it shouldn’t be. I’m getting too wrapped up in this. Lachlan is nobody to me. It shouldn’t matter if I betray his trust. He means nothing to me, and he’d do the same to me in a heartbeat if necessary. So why can’t I just lie and tell him that yes, he can trust me?
I change the subject instead.
“They wanted me to come with them tonight.”
Lachlan looks at me and shakes his head, like that wasn’t even a possibility.
“That’d never happen, Mack.”
“But they deal in women, right?” I press. “What would they have done with me?”
His hand moves up my back and rubs soft circles against my dress. A gesture of comfort. He thinks I’m asking because I’m scared. I’ll let him think that. But a part of me is wondering if something like this happened with Tal.
“This particular gang deals in whatever they can get their greedy hands on and turn a profit,” he says. “They don’t care what it is. They aren’t sanctioned or governed like we are. There are no rules with this lot.”
He sighs and his fingers roam over my arms.
“Ye’re from here, so you understand,” he says. “How territories are divided. Correct?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Ye’re from Southie. Ye’re proud of that. Ye take ownership of it. It’s the same for us, sweetheart. With our territories and our women.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Ye didn’t like what you saw tonight,” he goes on. “But it was necessary, Mack. Ye need to understand that. If ye don’t put guys like that down, do ye know what they do?”
I know. I know perfectly well. It was just the shock of it, really. But Lachlan takes my silence for ignorance and explains anyway.
“They come back with more guys. Any guys they can find. These lads aren’t like us. They don’t care about women or children or who gets in their way, really. They saw your face. And that puts ye at risk.”
I blink up at him, curious about what he’s saying. Surely he doesn’t mean he killed that guy for me.
“I told ye that ye’re under my protection,” he says. “I won’t risk your life, or my brothers either, Mack. Do ye understand?”
I nod and then watch him carefully as I ask my next question.
“Have they ever taken one of the girls before?”
“No.” His voice leaves no question about it. “Everybody knows ye don’t touch our women. Or the Italians, or even the Russians for that matter. Those fuckwits are the only ones dumb enough to think they can pull it off and they’ve just waged a war because of it. They’ll all be dead soon enough.”
I hold up my hands and cringe. “I don’t want to know the details.”
“Ye won’t.” He closes his eyes and his head lolls to the side in exhaustion. “Ye know too much already.”
I think about getting up, but Lachlan tightens his grip on me. He slips off into oblivion, and I know this is an opportunity for me to search his house. But I’m so tired. Physically and mentally drained. And he’s warm and I’m kind of comfortable where I’m at. I know I shouldn’t. But I curl up and rest my head against his chest, letting sleep take me away too.
***
When I wake up the next morning, I’m alone in the recliner. The shower is running down the hall, and I know Lachlan isn’t too far away.
I stumble into the kitchen and nearly have a frigging heart attack when I find Ronan sitting there. He’s at the table, reading from the paper without a single care in the world. As though nothing even happened last night, and this is just another normal morning for him. Who am I kidding? It probably is.
“How’s Sash?” I ask as I rummage through Lach’s bare cupboards. I’ve got a wicked bad headache, and the man doesn’t even have fricken’ coffee.
“She’s fine,” Ronan reports dryly.
“Ugh,” I groan and rub my temples. I know I saw a Dunkies around the corner last night at least. “I need some coffee. You wanna’ give me a lift?”
He glances up at me and rolls his eyes. God love the grouchy bastard.
“I’ll go alone.” He stands up. “What do ye want?”
“Two regulars and a couple of maple cremes. Some apple sticks, too.”
Ronan makes for the door before I think of something else. “Oh, and some cheese danishes.”
He grunts in annoyance and I call out after him. “We really do need to get you a bell, Ronan. It would be so much more convenient.”
The door slams and I snicker.
&nbs
p; Lachlan walks down the hall a few minutes later, and God help me he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs. His hair is still wet, and there are little drops of water dripping down onto his chest. He was covered in blood last night and I obviously wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be checking him out. But this morning’s a different story. Just as I figured, the man is jacked as all get out. He’s got a nice frigging body.
His chest and bicep have a few tattoos I didn’t even notice last night. There’s a Celtic design of sorts along with a few Gaelic words from the looks of it. I have no clue what they mean but I highly suspect it has some sort of symbolism for his syndicate.
“Morning, butterfly.” He walks over and strokes my face beneath his fingers. His touch is gentle, his eyes tender… and I can’t help noticing something has shifted between us.
I run my fingers over his bandage and he winces. “How’s it feeling this morning?”
“Like I’ve been shot,” he says wryly. “But it’ll be feeling grand tonight.” He leans down and nips at my ear. “When I’m buried deep inside of you.”
I look up and give him a nervous smile. How could I forget what we started last night? Of course he’s going to want to finish it.
“Feeling shy, sweetheart?” his fingers skim down my throat, making me shiver.
“Not at all,” I lie.
He bends down and his lips brush over mine, turning me into mush in his arms. I don’t know how he does that. I kiss him back, because… I don’t really know, actually. I have no idea if it’s because it’s a good strategy or I actually want to.
When the front door slams and Ronan’s shoes clip across the floor, I break away gratefully. There’s no way I can figure out all the answers to these questions inside my brain without caffeine in my blood stream.
I skip across the kitchen and plant a giant wet kiss on Ronan’s cheek as I tear the bag of donuts from his hand. He stumbles back in disbelief and then shoots Lachlan a worried glance.
“What?” I ask innocently.
Ronan shoves the coffees onto the counter and puts as much distance between us as he can manage in the small kitchen. He’s looking at me like I might try to fling myself at him again any moment. I roll my eyes and then turn to find Lachlan scowling at me as he tugs me back.
“Mackenzie,” he whispers threateningly in my ear. His grip on me is so tight I can hardly breathe. Sheesh, he looks like he wants to murder me.
“Crow.” I smile up at him. “It was just an innocent little kiss on the cheek. I take my Dunkie’s very seriously, you know.”
His hand finds its way to my throat, and he looks really pissed. “Don’t ever touch one of the lads like that again. Especially not Ronan if you know what’s good for you.”
What’s the big frigging deal? I glance at Ronan, and something passes between them. I’m getting the gist that Ronan doesn’t like to be touched. These two are oddly protective of each other, but unsurprisingly very tight lipped about it.
“Fine.” I shove away from Lachlan. “I won’t touch poor little Ronan again. And as for your orders… I belong to nobody, Lachlan Crow. You’d do well to remember that.”
“You think ye can just walk away from me?” he asks. “Ye came and planted your arse right on my cock in the middle of the club, if I’m not mistaken. And then demanded, while my fingers were deep inside ye I might add, that I not fuck around with Mandy. Even if ye hadn’t seen what ye did last night, you were never walking away from me after that, sweetheart. Don’t mistake those words for empty threats.”
Ronan clears his throat behind us and I jerk my gaze to his in embarrassment. I honestly forgot he was there for a second. And he’s staring at Lachlan like they need to have a serious talk themselves. When I glance back at Lach, he’s looking at me like he isn’t quite certain where all of that just came from either.
He grabs his coffee off the counter and jerks his head towards Ronan.
“I’ve got Armenians to deal with,” he says. “You’ll be staying put today, Mack.”
He turns around and walks back down the hall, giving me a nice view of his fine ass as he goes. Of course, Ronan catches me staring and shakes his head. Bastard.
Chapter Sixteen
Lachlan
Between dealing with the mess at the club and trying to track the Armenians movements, my morning’s been nothing but complete shite.
When I catch a glimpse of Ivan Malikoff walking through the rubble, it’s the cherry on top. Donovan is at his side, giving me an apologetic half-arsed shrug.
“I told him you were busy,” Donny says. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
I hold my hand up to let him know to back off and jerk my head towards my office. Ivan follows me down the hall, his cold blue eyes taking in everything with a smirk on his face. Fucking prick.
Ivan’s all bollocks and no brains. He’s been loafed in the head a few too many times to count, and all he’s really good for at this stage is muscle. I’d venture a guess that the circus would be better suited to him than the Russian mafia.
I take up a seat on my blood spattered desk and cross my arms.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Ivan?”
A grunt comes out of his barrel-shaped chest as he stabs a meaty finger in my direction.
“Alexei tells me you are protecting the girl.”
Fucks sake. These guys and this fucking girl.
“Ye didn’t need to come all the way down here to confirm that. I would’ve told ye over the phone.”
His buzzed head rattles sideways in disgust.
“She is a liability,” he spits.
“Not to me, she isn’t.” I meet his gaze. “But I didn’t do her father in, either.”
His nostrils flare and I’m surprised there isn’t steam coming out of them. This bloke reminds me of a much bigger and dumber version of Donovan. No telling how many bodies he’s had to put in the ground to cover up his hot-headed agenda.
“She tell you this?” Ivan asks.
“Nah,” I reply. “Saw the police report. Ye left your fucking brand right on his forehead for the world to see, champ. If ye go down for this, it’s because of your own genius, not the girl.”
He curses at me in Russian, calling me a filthy dog. Probably doesn’t have a clue I know exactly what he’s saying. I don’t like this prick. Part of me hates him on Mack’s behalf. It was his temper that set into motion the events that molded her into the person she is. The girl who had to fend for herself on the streets at the age of thirteen. All because this cockhead couldn’t handle his ego.
“I want her dead,” Ivan says.
The muscles in my body burn with a rage I’m not wholly accustomed to. I’ve half a notion to pummel Ivan into the bloody floor and add to the mess. I feel protective of Mack. Too much so. I need to cop on to myself and remember the big picture here.
“It’s not up to you.”
He glances at me and shrugs. “How much will it take?”
“Nothing. It’s non-negotiable.”
He doesn’t blink. Or move. His eyes are dull and he isn’t listening to a goddamn thing I’m saying. I doubt very much he’ll back down on this. If Viktor knew he was here, he’d have his nuts. But Ivan knows I won’t rat him out.
“Tell me why ye want her dead,” I insist. “She saw nothing. Knows nothing. So why?”
He shrugs. And there it is. It’s the principle for him. Mack is the reminder of the father who beat him in the ring. The one he could never measure up to. Watching her fight triggered his ego.
“Ye need to let it go, Ivan,” I warn him. “For the sake of the alliance. The girl is under my protection now, and nothing ye say will change that.”
His eyes pinch together and his arms set to twitching. He’d like to off me too, no doubt. If it were any other day, he might’ve even considered trying. I’d be glad to tell him the feeling’s mutual. Ending this prick for Mack would bring me nothing but war
m fuzzies in my chest. But with the way things are right now I can’t.
He legs it towards the door, but pauses to look back at me.
“Consider it forgotten,” he says. “But you should keep a close eye on this girl. At least with me, her death would be swift. I can’t promise the same for the others.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mackenzie
Having Ronan around to babysit me all day meant that I couldn’t check out Lachlan’s house like I wanted to.
Doesn’t really matter though. I highly doubt he has anything here. The place is pretty sparsely decorated, with only the basics. The few things I did get a chance to look through- his bedroom and his medicine cabinet- held nothing of importance.
So instead I use every one of the nine hours that Lachlan is gone to annoy the hell out of Ronan. I can tell he wants to be here just about as much as I want him here. He’s a soldier, I think, but he’s by no means the lowest on the totem pole, I know that much. Lachlan wants him with me for a reason. He trusts him not to touch me, and also, probably, to protect me. However, it’s obvious by the permanent scowl on his face when he’s around me that he thinks his services could be put to much better use. He’d rather be out there on the front lines, protecting Lachlan I’m sure. It’s typical of the men in this sort of mafia organization to have a brotherly bond, but I suspect that Ronan and Lachlan’s runs deeper. That’s something I’d like to investigate further, but I doubt he’s going to give much up. He’s too smart for that.
I grill him with questions, most of which he doesn’t answer, and then I try to get him to run me to the store. The only way to liven this party up is with some booze. He mutters something about not going anywhere while the Armenians are on the loose and then goes back to reading.
On a whim, I ask him a silly question to try to get a rise out of him. But I’m surprised by his response.
“So what do you think of Sasha?”