by Fiona Keane
“You’re a smart girl, Aideen. Do the research. It will surely tell you more than Julian,” Liam whispered in my ear. He spun away, my shoulders shivering with the loss of touch, and walked toward the kitchen sink while still mumbling something. I couldn’t hear Liam; my mind was distracted by the familiar heightened sense of goose bumps that trailed along my neck.
“What’s going on?” Julian interrupted, his right hand rubbing sleep from his faded eyes. What do I do?
“Sorry if we woke you, Julian.” Liam turned from the sink, drying his hands with a small towel. “Turns out we had difficulty sleeping tonight.”
Julian’s hand spread delicately along my shoulder, barely even a touch, and my body reacted as though he suffocated me. It was pressure, weight, and tension, all with the heady feeling of excitement that tickled around my heart.
“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Julian whispered, his voice raspier than normal. My gaze wandered to Liam, who bit his bottom lip, smiling at me.
“Goodnight, nosy bird.” Liam winked before Julian spun my body toward the hallway. I hadn’t finished my conversation with Liam. I wanted to know so much more, but our host interrupted. I think I was more upset that I enjoyed Liam’s company and Julian took it from me, from us. Us. Just stop this already. I stepped ahead, no longer wanting Julian’s hand on my body. As we approached the door, I reached for the knob, but Julian grabbed my hand.
“Aideen,” his whisper was nearly inaudible, “relax.”
“I can’t around you.”
He sighed, almost pained. “I wish I could change that.”
Julian turned the knob while his palm spread over my hand, and we entered the room. It was as I left it: a disheveled bed, a closet full of designer clothes, and a terribly expensive sapphire ring sparkling in the moonlight atop the dresser. He followed me inside, his weight pressing against the corner of the mattress. He’s clearly not in a hurry to leave. Lovely. But with that vision, with the mere thought of Julian near my bed, my mind went right back to the moment we kissed in his living room. It was…beautiful. That frightened me.
“You’re thinking about it too,” he whispered, his head lifting to watch me. I looked at him, unable to describe how I felt. I couldn’t mutter the thought in my own mind. I was angry at him, angry at me, disgusted with myself, but in awe of the way his hands and mouth felt. I was tired of fighting the way my stomach hummed whenever he entered a room. I was exhausted with his authority and omissions. My heart was in limbo. I couldn’t trust Julian Molloy. Or Liam.
I mounted the bed, crawling toward the pillows against the headrest and nestling against them while watching Julian in the soft moonlight. I can’t look at him. It will make me feel things, question things, and my heart…that thing will surely suffer. It’s fake, babby.
“You and Liam have the same tattoo,” I mentioned, staring at the comforter while he remained motionless at the foot of my bed, his elbows resting against his knees as we struggled to avoid each other’s sight.
“Just ask, Aideen.” His tone was curt, but forgiving. Julian sounded exhausted, uncharacteristically drained.
“What does it mean?” I froze when I caught the stare of his faded gaze; it was lonely, so vacant. Julian inhaled, biting his top lip once the air slowly released from his lungs. His body shifted, turning so his right leg was lifted onto the mattress and he could face me. Oh, shit. We’re actually going to talk. My heart thumped so viciously within my chest that I could barely breathe.
“It’s something the men in my family have had for generations to show we belong,” his throat cleared, the volume of his voice shifting down an octave, “to our family.”
“The Molloy last name on your birth certificate isn’t enough?”
Julian’s head slowly shook, his eyes unmoving. He would have threatened to use his gag with a comment like that. This shit is serious. Christ, Aideen. ALL this shit is serious.
“It’s more than that. I can’t tell you until you already know, but I know you have an idea. Just say it,” he demanded, his voice still a gentle, tired murmur. What did I have an idea about? His gun? His wealth? His rope? The damn sapphire ring on the dresser?
“Usually politicians, and those in line to be one, don’t carry around guns. They hire protective detail for that, which you have, but you also insist on using yours to intimidate people…and…you have—”
“Yes, babby,” Julian groaned, but it wasn’t malicious, “I killed the psychopath who broke into your home to murder you. I’m going for my seventh tattoo tomorrow. It’ll be an honorable kill because I saved your life. I saved you, Aideen, and you have lacked all grace in your form of appreciation. You called me that day. You didn’t call the police; you called me. Doesn’t that mean a dammed thing to you?” He cursed. It was overwhelmingly intimidating to watch Julian’s eyes melt, pleading, while his words stung like acid.
“Why did he come to kill me?”
“Because you’re my girlfriend,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he rubbed both palms against his mouth. “I can’t imagine who would want to kill you. Can you? Any idea, babby?”
“Malcolm.” Girlfriend. Not in here, mister. Oh, he meant to the outside world. Right.
“Precisely.” Julian’s gaze returned to mine. “So do us all a favor and just be for a while, Aideen. Let me figure this all out so I can finally give you the answers you deserve. In the meantime, show some appreciation for fuck’s sake.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
His words sent my mind spinning, and not in the dangerously delightful way his kisses had. I gaped at him like a terrified child, unsure if I could even move to run away.
Julian’s head shook, his hand lifting to hold my bent knee, sending a ripple of warmth through my body. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s three in the morning. We’re all tired and on edge.”
“I’d like you to leave,” I muttered, receiving his furrowed brow in response.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” he whispered, his vast blue eyes flickering between mine. “I know you agree with me. There’s something…did it…did you think—” Julian’s palm burned my skin as he cupped my cheek.
“Either compose a sentence or get out,” I told him, enjoying my threatening tone.
Julian’s mouth parted slightly, smiling before speaking to me. “Did you think of anything besides how angry you were at me afterward? After we kissed?” Yes. No. My dream? Yes. No.
“No,” I lied. I thought and felt emotions so wide that there wasn’t a spectrum on which to hold them. Julian slowly nodded, his glance returning to the floor while he stood, cowering in the moonlight. Cowering. That wasn’t Julian Molloy. Maybe it’s because he’s in his pajamas. He slid from the edge of the bed and approached the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
“How does your head feel?” Confused. Empty. Full. Overwhelmed.
“Better. Thanks. Goodnight.” I heard the knob turn.
“Sweet dreams, Aideen.” And with the click of the door latch, Julian left. At least that time we hadn’t kissed each other, screamed at each other, or hit one another. Right? It was a win for everyone. Part of me anticipated his return, optimistic in a completely horrendous sort of way.
I slumped against the pillows and let my head drift to the right, my eyes caught by a small flashing blue light coming from the top of my dresser. I flipped my tired feet over the mattress and crossed to the dresser, my mind filling with irritation when I noticed the flashing glow was coming from the cell phone Julian gave me. Arrogant bastard. I’ll call you sometime and scream at you for everything you’ve ever done. Prick. Does it have wi-fi? I was sure Julian would track my browsing history, but I didn’t really care. I needed answers and Google was about to become my best friend. Thanks for the phone, big guy.
I climbed back onto the mattress, snuggling into the plush pillows and comforter, my thumbs frantically scouring the internet for something to explain who Julian Molloy really was. Technically, Liam gave me perm
ission to research, so I couldn’t feel like too much of a mischievous child. Liam! What did he tell me tonight? What did he and Jul—their tattoo!
Celtic crosses were all over the internet. I learned how some were displayed at weddings in Ireland, how some were used as headstones. I even learned the history of them in religious art. I scoured through images until my brain was numb, but I couldn’t find a copy of theirs anywhere. Keep scrolling…Celtic crosses and architecture…Celtic crosses in film…Celtic crosses and government…Celtic crosses and lineage (Irish)…Celtic crosses and the mob…Celti—wait. What. The. Hell?
“No fucking way,” I muttered to myself, my eyes wide with frightened disbelief as I scanned the attached article describing Celtic crosses and their symbolism in the Irish-American mob, or the group of people once associated with the mob who have long since disbanded. Long since, my ass. Julian’s thirty-two. Long since. Motherfucker. My fingers and heart stopped when I reached the article’s end, displaying before me seven images of Celtic crosses. One of which appeared eerily familiar to the ink marking Julian and Liam Molloy’s forearms. So this is it. The Irish mob is going to kill me, and I’m just sitting here like a duck waiting to be shot.
I cleared my search history, emptied the cache, and placed the phone back on the dresser. I paced around the room, my body trembling with frightened realization. It’s just a theory. Something stupid from the internet. But…his gun…the rope…the tattoo. The sun started to shine through the shield of snow and ice against the window while my feet practically wore a path on Julian’s pristine hardwood floor. The gun, the rope, the tattoo. I was too tired to think about any of it. If I was going to develop an effective escape plan, or I could find the gall to ask those two brothers what the heck was going on, I needed rest.
***
The room was dimly lit, the only glow softly lingering from the monitors at my side. It was a new sense of loneliness. Bound to my bed with physical restrictions and an evading memory, all I could think about was how that loneliness, the utter loss and emptiness within my soul, vanished when he was around. It must be night now. It’s so dark. I drifted off, my mind weakening to the soundtrack of machines.
“I’m going to finish this,” his snarl whispered above me, snapping me from a dreamless sleep. I kept my eyes closed. I tried to maintain calm breathing, hoping changes in my monitor wouldn’t signal I was awake. This was not the company I craved, but the evil I fought. He smelled like cheap whiskey, continuing to vomit his threats at me while I displayed a farce, willing the tears to delay until he left.
“You’ve been in here for a week and you won’t die. Someday, Aideen. We’ll see about that.”
I waited for the cloud of heavy alcohol to leave my face, listening for his retreating footsteps, before I turned my head from where he stood so I could open my eyes and survey my room. He was gone. My head pounded, eviscerating thoughts while my machines screamed for my nurses. I heard their footsteps galloping in. I wanted to tell them a criminal was here, but I couldn’t move my mouth. I felt paralyzed, stuck in the shock of waking to his acidic words. I tore open my teary eyes and scanned the nurses, who frantically pumped my IV with pain medicine. It wasn’t working. Nothing was working.
“Aideen.” His voice was quick to fill my room, out of breath. “I heard…your machines…nurses…”
“She’s just having an episode,” a nurse replied. The pain was leaving. It was melting. He saved me again…
“Knock, knock.” The voice and accompanying tap disturbed my slumber. It wasn’t peaceful, so who gives a crap? My eyes were slow to respond, opening to the flood of light pouring in from the snow-covered windows. Why the heck am I having these damn nightmares? Maybe because I’m held hostage AGAIN. No, seriously, Aideen. You could leave. Just go. Why are you here?
“Knock, knock.” His call repeated as he cracked open the door. I slid from the mattress, sure my hair looked like a hot mess robin’s nest, and approached the intruder behind the door. With my hand on the knob, my palm began to burn, and I flashed back to the research I conducted on that evil cell phone. The gun, the tattoo, the rope, the power, the wealth, the mob. My dream left me in such a funk that I couldn’t handle combining those haunting memories with this new information. And yet somehow, I’m dangerously intrigued.
“Good morning, beautiful.” Liam’s sleepy face met mine in the doorway. “I’ve brought you breakfast.” I glanced down at the tray in his hands: oatmeal, coffee, and a bowl of strawberries covered with powdered sugar.
“Julian told me no dairy, so the oatmeal has almond milk, as does the coffee. He mentioned you liked honey in it as well.” A lopsided smile formed on Liam’s lips. His hair was disheveled, and he was still in his pajamas.
“You brought me breakfast?” I watched him, suspiciously studying the sparkle in his darkened eyes. Do mob people do this kind of shit?
“May I come in?”
I know my mouth gaped as I studied Liam in disbelief. “Okay…you made me breakfast?”
“You’re a guest here. Doesn’t Julian make your breakfast?” Liam further opened the door, entering my space and placing the tray on the bed.
“No.” I laughed, strangely humored by that suggestion. “He doesn’t make me breakfast. Thank you.”
“You don’t mind if I sit with you for a while as you’re eating, do you?” Liam questioned, sliding the tray into the middle of the bed and nestling onto the foot of the mattress. Do I have a choice in the matter? You look pretty comfortable there, little Molloy.
“I guess not.” I followed his path and climbed back onto the bed. Returning to the warm covers filled my mind with flashbacks of my dream, my subconscious still picking apart the pieces I couldn’t decipher.
“How’d you sleep?” His smile was radiant, sparkling and full of charisma, just like his brother. Where is Julian?
“Like shit,” I admitted, not caring if he wanted to borrow his twisted brother’s gag. “You’re still in your pajamas. Must be nice not having to work all the time.”
“Ah, yes.” He chuckled, dropping his body along the mattress with an exaggerated sigh. “And so the probing begins. I was hoping we would have at least until lunch before that came up.”
“Do you mind if I told you that you’re quite arrogant?” I tested my boundaries, pleased when Liam’s palm fell against his chest as he laughed. While he was lying across my mattress, his shirt lifted over his hips, exposing the colorful lines of another tattoo along the side of his abs. His toned abs. Swallow. It was so nice to look at that, I didn’t care if the oatmeal was poisoned.
“You wouldn’t be the first one. My family tells me that all the time, but they’re just as poorly mannered as I am, if not worse. I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well.”
“Eh.” I looked away from his stomach, embarrassed my gaze lingered so long. “What’s that tattoo all about? The one on your stomach.” Liam glanced at me, a coy smile teasing his mouth.
“My, my, Miss Leary,” he lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing the artwork, “curiosity killed the cat, you know.” Don’t I? Damn cell phone.
“It’s just a map,” Liam continued, his hand gliding along the tattoo. “It’s Ireland.” It was a simple green outline of Ireland, containing marks of white and orange to indicate significant locations. Of course, that was all my assumption, because I’m certain if what my research found was true, those markings were not heritage sites of the Molloy lineage, but more deadly reminders of their history.
“You’re really into that sort of stuff, huh? Your heritage and family,” I probed while gulping the coffee. That poor man had no clue how to make a latte. Maybe I’ll have to teach him. Maybe he won’t wear his shirt. Oh my God. Liam placed his weight on his elbows and watched me eat.
“More questions,” he said with a grin. “Is this your research then? I’m your librarian. Unfortunately, I’m not an open book. My apologies. You’re a curious kitten, though. I like kittens.”
“Good morning.” Julian’
s throat cleared, forcing my teeth to slice directly into my tongue while I tried to take a bite of oatmeal. Oh, shit. Liam wasn’t in a hurry to remove himself from my bed. It isn’t my bed! Whatever. My bed. Fine. Okay.
I placed the spoon back onto the tray and swung my feet onto the floor. The hardwood was warmer than I expected as I approached Julian. He was fully clothed, his body masked by a snug, tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt, and silver tie that dangled around his neck.
“Looking for some help with that tie, Julian?” Liam inquired, his voice radiant with laughter. Julian’s eyes were on me, giving away nothing but how tired he felt.
“I came to check on you.” His fingers lifted to my head, delicately placing some of the nest behind my ear. It was a simple gesture, and one that twisted my heart into frantic knots, but one I knew meant he wanted something or was prepared to play one of his games. His tone switched to a low whisper as he leaned toward me, sucking all air from my lungs with only his shifted posture.
“We didn’t end things as well as we could have last night. I wanted to see how your head was feeling and if the medicine helped.”
“I’m okay,” I informed him, pulling back from his intoxicating cologne. “Thanks.” Well, that’s something I never thought I would say to him.
“Liam.” Julian looked behind me. “Breakfast is usually eaten at a table, and I do believe you owe Miss Leary some respect. Why the hell are you ready to take a nap? Go to your own home.”
“I’m comfortable here,” Liam challenged. “I made you a pot of coffee. I knew you’d be a terrible grump.” Julian’s eyes rolled while a sharp breath lifted his chest.
“Aideen,” he whispered, “would you be a dear and grant me one favor?” His voice was sweet, almost remorseful. My knees weakened while thinking about the silk tie dangling around his neck, and my fingers twitched, longing to pull its ends toward me. Longing? Really? You do have issues with fairytales.