by Cara Dee
“Lay her down on the couch, please.” Pop went into doctor mode and asked what’d happened. I told him everything I knew, mentioning Jonathan and the state I’d found him in. Before I knew it, more words were spilling out of me. About Aunt Viv and the shit the girls went through at school, what their peers were saying about them on social media.
“I’m not sure they know about that part, though,” I said. “Neither of them has accounts on Facebook and that, what’s it called, Twitter?”
Patrick nodded.
In the meantime, Pop was examining her on the couch. He checked her breathing, felt her pulse and her forehead, and started removing her hoodie.
“All right. Pat, go out to my car and get my bag,” Pop told him. “I trust that you know your way around it since you just fucking stole it.”
I pinched my lips together, too worried to laugh, but the smirk was hard to contain.
“Seriously.” Patrick shot me a scowl before running out of the house.
“Do you really have a doctor’s bag?” I sat down by Emilia’s feet and lifted them onto my lap.
Pop shook his head. “Not my field, but I do carry samples of antidepressants and sedatives.” He gently pulled the hoodie over Emilia’s head and dropped it next to him. “It sounds to me like she’s had too much to deal with today. Stop fidgeting.”
“I’m trying,” I growled. “Can you fix her? I need her to be okay now.”
His mouth twitched, and he checked her pulse again. “She’ll be fine, boy. The mind is an extraordinary thing with a remarkable defense system. It knows when a person can’t handle any more stress. She’s likely had a big panic attack, and now her mind is forcing her to recover.” He frowned, which obviously made me even more tense, and he pulled down the neckline of her long-sleeved tee.
I inhaled sharply at the sight of the blotchy marks. “He—fuck. That sick son of a bitch. I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll cut him to pieces—”
“Finnegan.” Pop gave me a look.
I pressed a fist to my mouth and forced myself to memorize every mark Jonathan had given her. I could clearly see the dark prints of his fingers. He’d been goddamn rough on her for the bruises to be forming already.
Pop took a breath, not looking entirely calm himself. “When she spoke earlier, was she hoarse? How was her voice?”
I nodded. “Raspy.”
“Could she move her head? Was she complaining of pain?”
“She said she felt like he was still choking her.” Holy fuck, Jonathan’s days were numbered. “She could move okay, though.”
“That’s good.” He carefully felt around her neck. “We’ll take her to a physician if she doesn’t feel better soon. I don’t think she’s injured her larynx, or trachea for that matter, but better safe than sorry. She’s probably only sore. I’ll have Ian make her something later.”
“I need whiskey,” I said.
“You and me both,” he muttered. “I trust that this Jonathan Porter won’t be breathing much longer.”
“I’ll find him a nice resting place.”
“Good.” He nodded and stood up, and Pat returned a couple seconds later. “Here we go.” He opened his briefcase and retrieved a handful of sample packets. “These are all low dosage. You can give her one when she wakes up—if she starts panicking.”
I checked the packets, recognizing Xanax and Ativan. “Thanks. Which one’s for me?”
He chuckled and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I reckon a shot of whiskey will take care of things.” He faced my brother. “Are the twins packed and ready to go?”
“I don’t know. I’ll check.” Patrick walked out again.
I blew out a breath and ran a hand through my hair.
“She’s a lovely one.” Pop smiled faintly. “I’m looking forward to meeting her under better circumstances.”
“You should’ve seen what she did to her pop.” Now that the worst was over, I could smile about it. “She broke his nose.”
“Attagirl.” He smirked and nodded. “I’ll go talk to Ian before we go. You should get her comfortable. She might be disoriented when she comes to.”
“I will. Thanks for the help, Dad.”
“Anytime.”
Emilia woke up a couple hours later, and though she didn’t panic, she did get upset. I gave her the Xanax and made her drink some water, and then she was asleep again.
I barely left my room. I went downstairs once to get something to eat and thank Patrick for coming with me today. Other than that, I stayed in bed with my laptop and set one of my credit cards on fire. After what Emilia had been through, my top priority was to keep her safe and happy.
Texting with my mother and aunt, I learned quite a bit about what women liked having around the house, such as shower products that weren’t for men, foods and drinks they liked, and clothes.
I browsed one section in an online clothing store before calling it quits and transferring money to Karla’s account instead. She was a personal shopper my brother, father, and I went to whenever a woman in the family had a birthday or whatever. She’d already helped me with Emilia twice.
Most of all, Aunt Viv had told me, it was important that Emilia got to decide for herself.
I kinda forgot about that, but it was only because the girl was asleep, and I wanted the shit shipped here stat.
It was impossible to forget that Emilia told me earlier she’d marry me. I didn’t trust those words because of the circumstances; that said, I did want her to stay here. She could do whatever she wanted with the guest room if she wanted privacy, as long as she didn’t go back to Sarah and that run-down motel.
Hell, not even Sarah should stay there. When I talked to Patrick earlier, he had just filled Sarah in on the situation, and she was understandably upset. Yet when he’d offered to come get her, she’d declined.
“Finnegan…” Emilia’s whisper stirred the silence, and she sat up abruptly. “Oh God.”
“I’m here. How’re you feeling?” I set aside my laptop and felt her forehead. She was a little clammy. The girl needed a haircut. As beautiful as the long waves were, she could get lost in them.
“Dirty.” She grimaced. “Can I borrow your shower?”
“Of course.” I left the bed and rounded it to help her. “Uh, how’s your throat? Are you sore?” I wanted to know if I should call a doctor. I wasn’t about to risk anything with her.
She took my hand and let me help her out of bed. “A little sore, maybe. Not as bad as before.”
That was a relief.
She asked for privacy once I’d guided her to the bathroom, and I told her I’d be back with some clothes. She’d wobbled some, so I didn’t wanna be away from her more than necessary.
A pair of boxer shorts and one of my tees would have to suffice tonight. Patrick had left Emilia’s bags in the living room, and I had no desire to sift through them.
I gave the bathroom door a knock when she’d flushed the toilet.
She opened it and let me in.
“Are you in a hurry?” My forehead creased as I looked her over. She seemed anxious to get in the shower.
“I feel gross.” She yanked her shirt over her head, and I did a double take before averting my gaze. Jesus Christ. I wasn’t sure what’d caught my attention the most, the marks around her neck or her breasts in a simple white bra. “Um, you showed me your ass last time.” Was she justifying her quick stripping…?
“I’m not complaining.” I side-eyed her. “I’m worried because Bambi can walk steadier than you.”
She giggled sleepily, a gorgeous sound that filled me with more relief.
“I can get you a lawn chair to sit in—in the shower, I mean,” I said. “I don’t want you to trip.”
She shook her head and unbuttoned her jeans. My concern wasn’t exactly wiped out when she had to support herself on the counter. “I’m fine. There’s no way a chair would fit in there anyway.”
“You’re dizzy,” I argued. Leaving the boxers and tee next to the
sink, I walked over to the shower. “Let me run you a bath instead. Then you don’t have to stand up.”
“Finnegan.” She put a hand on my lower back as I turned on the water.
I straightened and sighed, only to cough. Now she was in just her panties and bra. Fucking perfect.
This time, however, the marks won. I clenched my jaw and carefully touched her shoulder. “I want him to suffer.”
She turned toward the mirror, and I couldn’t read her expression. She inspected the darkening bruises the same way I’d study a painting.
Unless I was stealing it, I had no interest in art.
“I punched him,” she whispered.
“You did more than that.” I came to a stand behind her and shifted her hair to the side. “I haven’t been that proud in a long time, princess.”
“Really?” She looked skeptical, yet her mouth quirked up slightly.
“Really.” I pressed a kiss to her temple and kept watching her in the mirror. “Imagine the damage you could do with some training. No motherfucker would dare put a hand on you.”
Her eyes flashed with something, and whatever it was, it pierced through the film of emptiness. “I wanna be strong.”
“Stronger,” I corrected, gathering her hair in my hands. “You’re already strong, Emilia.”
“Stronger,” she whispered to herself. Then she nodded slowly and made eye contact in the mirror. “I meant it, you know. I’ll marry you.”
I took a deep breath. My hands fell to my sides. She’d been through too much today to make that decision. Even I had limits. As far as I knew, she was still affected by the anxiety pill. But fuck if I didn’t wanna seal the deal right this second.
“Ask me again.” She turned around and peered up at me. “Ask me, Finnegan, and promise to take me away from here. Tell me I never have to see my dad again. Swear to me I’m free from this hellhole.”
She was killing me.
“If you regret this when your head is clear…”
“My head is clear,” she insisted. “If today has proven anything, it’s how fucking done I am. I don’t want that to be my life.”
I’d made my argument. I didn’t have the willpower to give another or dig my heels into the sand. Placing my hands on the counter on each side of her, I dipped down and kissed her.
“Be my wife.” I cupped her cheek and rested my forehead against hers. “I’ll take you away from here. You never have to see him again. I’ll help you get stronger.” When she closed her eyes, I dropped two kisses over her eyelids. “Marry me, and I’ll give you a better life.”
She let out a trembling breath. “Okay. Yes.”
“Yeah?” My stomach flipped.
“Yes.” She opened her eyes, and the hazel in them shone brighter. “I’m sure. I’ll be your wife.”
I kissed her again, deeper this time, and my ticker pounded in my rib cage. My hands went to her hips, and I stroked her soft skin, earning myself a shiver from her. In turn, she pressed herself closer to me, and I picked her up and sat her on the counter.
“I have a ring.” I grazed my teeth along her bottom lip before sweeping inside for a heady taste. Kissing her was becoming an addiction, same with feeling her, being close to her, holding her.
“You do?”
I nodded and cradled her face in my hands. “You take your bath. I’ll get the ring and some food.”
“Okay.” Her smile was atypically shy, and her cheeks were perfectly flushed.
“So fucking beautiful.” I gave her another smooch. “Be careful in the tub, okay?”
“I will.”
Chapter 15
Finnegan O’Shea
“Oh my God, no. Holy crap, this is something else. I’ve never worn anything so extravagant. Fuck, I can’t. Finnegan, I’ll lose it—oh wow, it’s heavy. I love it so much, but I’m legit afraid of it. Or afraid of myself. What if I drop it? It’s so cute.”
I chuckled at her frenetic rant and got comfortable in the corner of the couch.
“Seriously.” She crawled up into my lap, mesmerized by the ring on her finger. So was I, but for another reason. It filled me with possessiveness to see it there. It looked right. Perfect, even. “This is scary.”
I took her hand and kissed the top of it. “In a good way, I hope.”
“As long as I don’t lose it.”
“The diamond’s insured. Don’t worry about it.”
I’d grown antsy waiting for her to finish her bath, so I’d taken a shower to pass the time. Then I’d gotten the soup and fresh rolls that Ian had prepared in the main house before spending a solid twenty minutes pacing and clearing the couch of her shit. So it was possible I’d gotten the ring on her finger the minute she’d reemerged from the bathroom wearing my boxer shorts, a tee big enough to drown in, and her hair in a damp, untidy bun at the top of her head.
She’d never looked more adorable and naturally beautiful.
“You should eat.” I kissed her forehead and patted her stomach. “I can hear it snarling, you know.”
She grinned self-consciously. “I’ll eat when I can stop staring at this.” She stuck her ring in my face, and I laughed. “What’s this cut called? Emerald?”
“Cushion.” I made a decent art thief, but I knew a whole lot more about jewelry. And I’d wanted something special and rare for Emilia. I’d had help from two designers to find the perfect gems. In the end, I’d chosen a pale blue cushion-cut diamond surrounded by tiny stones in a diamond-encrusted platinum band. If I had any say, it would never leave Emilia’s finger.
She bit her lip and lifted a brow. “Did you steal this?”
I coughed around a laugh and squeezed her to me. “No, you little shite, I didn’t steal it.”
“I had to ask!”
Down to chuckles, I lifted her off of me so she could get some damn food into her stomach. If my suspicion was correct, she hadn’t eaten since lunch in school.
“Crap!” She shot right up and stared at me in alarm, and that was how easily my heart jumped up into my throat. “I was supposed to work today!”
Jesus Christ, she couldn’t scare me like that. “Sit the fuck down, woman.” I took a calming breath. “You don’t work there any longer. All that is over and done with. Work, school, you name it.”
She sat down, processing, and it was as if she couldn’t grasp what I was saying.
“We’ll get the paperwork sorted next week,” I promised her. “This late into the semester, I reckon summer school or holding off a few months would be best, but I can make some calls if you wanna graduate this May.”
“I don’t care right now,” she whispered. “I’m really quitting all of it?”
“All of it,” I confirmed. “It’s done.” Scooting forward, I opened the containers from Ian and was glad it still seemed warm. “Remember I wanted to take you to Philly this weekend?”
She nodded hesitantly.
“What would you say about staying there?” I asked. I handed her a container of broccoli cheddar soup and a spoon. “We can ease into it if you want. Stay here sometimes and in the city sometimes.” I’d be more than okay with that. With my folks moving out here soon, I needed to see Pop often enough for when we discussed Italy. As long as I had more access to Philly than I had right now, I’d be golden.
“And you have a place in the city too…?”
I nodded. “I have a condo in the same building as Patrick in downtown Philly.”
She ate a couple spoonfuls of soup, her gaze never really leaving mine. “What you’re saying is we could be living in the city within a few days.”
She was too cute. “Yes, Emilia. Within twenty-four hours, technically.”
“Let’s do that.”
She sure as fuck wanted to get away from here. And no one could blame her.
“Consider it done.” I kissed her cheek before tucking into my meal. It’d been hours since I ate, so I was gonna fill up on bread. A bowl of soup didn’t cut it. I was a growing boy. “Will you be ready
to sit down with lawyers anytime soon?”
She knew what I was talking about, and she was less hesitant now. “Yes. I’m ready.”
Maybe a little too ready. After everything she’d been through, I’d have to make sure she didn’t overwhelm herself in her excitement to get away from her old life.
“I take it we’re getting married soon?” Emilia questioned.
There was no way to beat around the bush with this. The sooner, the better. “Uh, yeah. However soon you and my mother can put together a wedding.” I’d have to speak to Father O’Malley. They took Pre-Cana classes seriously in our church, and I was going to renegotiate those a bit. No way I’d sit through months of premarital counseling.
“Don’t look so constipated, Finnegan. I know what I’m getting myself into.”
I choked around a mouthful of soup and reached for a napkin. Oh, how I fucking doubted she knew what she was getting herself into, but fair enough. I could be more direct if she wanted.
“It’s gonna be a big wedding,” I admitted. “I guess I don’t want you to change your mind.”
“And go back to what I fought myself out of today?” She shook her head. “I’d rather kill myself. You have a big family, and you surround yourself with lowlifes. I’m counting on a packed church.”
“Lowlifes,” I muttered and bit into a roll. “That’s harsh, princess.”
“Cry about it.” She smirked. “#MobstersArePeopleToo.”
I let out a laugh, wondering if life could ever get dull with her by my side. “You’re the one marrying a man you call a mobster. What does that say about you?”
“Oh, there’s no hope for me.” She was being lighthearted about it, so I went with it. I didn’t correct her. “Okay, so you said your mom and I are gonna plan this thing. Does that mean you don’t care about the hows and wheres?”
“My wedding won’t be a snooze-fest, so I’ll be in charge of the music. The where is already taken care of. I’ll talk to our priest on Sunday.”
She cocked her head. “Are we going to church?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s okay.” She dished up some more soup and dipped her bread in the spoon. What a weird technique. “Sarah helped me download a couple games on my phone. I can feed my fishies or crush candy.”