by Layla Frost
But the shadows in Killian’s eyes cleared at my words and his thumb stroked my inner wrist. “When she… when it was time, my uncle wanted us to move back to Ireland, but Ma refused. Uncle Conor got her into the best hospice center, and one of her good friends got temporary custody of me. We were both taken care of, and she was comfortable. Not everyone’s so lucky.”
“Wait, you were there?”
His brows furrowed. “Aye, the whole time. Where else would I be?”
“Prison?”
He shook his head. “Ma died before I went in, thankfully.”
“She didn’t know what you were doing?”
“Aye, she even helped. But it would’ve killed her to see me locked up.”
If she’d already passed, whatever shady excuse he had to be involved with drugs had nothing to do with her affording her medication.
And that pissed me off because, deep down, I’d hoped he could make it better somehow. That, even though we weren’t gonna be together, at least I wouldn’t have to hate him for what he’d done.
For the poison he’d helped spread.
My tone was harsher than intended when I asked, “If she was gone, why were you still dealing—”
“Told you, I never dealt, mo chuisle.”
“Fine. Why were you still doing… whatever?”
“This was before shit was locked down the way it is now. Ma would find out what people in her group needed, and I had an understanding with some pharmacists. Their doctor friends would send in extra prescriptions that they’d fill without question. Or my lads and I would take a few boxes while they looked the other way. They were covered for the losses and pocketed the cash the patients came up with.”
“Why didn’t they just use that money to pick up their prescriptions the normal way?” I asked, calling bullshit.
“Remember when you were looking at your flight? A ticket that costs a few hundred suddenly runs over a grand when people are desperate. Or when you order a glass of wine at a restaurant. Each bottle holds six glasses. They’re charging ten bucks a glass, that’s sixty they’re getting for a fifteen-dollar bottle.”
The wine lover in me had always been personally offended by that kind of insult and had refused to order it while out.
I’d never even had to think about whether the same practices happened in medicine. I knew people were shitty, but it was extra shitty that they put their wallet above people’s lives.
“So what went wrong with your arrangement?” I asked.
“A pharmacist we worked with retired. By that point, my ma was already gone and we were easing back. Selfish as shit to say, I had my own future to think about. But the guy who replaced the pharmacist came to us, claiming he wanted to help. Said he thought what we were doing was honorable. Then the prick held us at gunpoint while he had his own man boost the drugs. Three of us, seventeen years old and watching our lives get carried away with a fook-ton of shit. Strong shit we’d never touched, and more of it than we’d grabbed altogether. He was set to make bank selling it, and he still got reimbursed for the loss because he told the cops one of us had already taken off with the load. Three street kids against a pharmacist? They couldn’t wait to throw away the key.”
“You didn’t go to juvie?”
He shook his head. “With the kind of load they thought we’d taken, and with us nearing our birthdays, we were adults in their eyes.”
I thought about his apartment. His bike. My first class ticket.
Acid burned my stomach and threatened to come up. “Is that what you still do?”
He shook his head. “Not officially. Shit gets onto the streets because it falls through the cracks. Or people push it. Every once in a while, someone pushes it into my hands so it can get to people who need it. But it doesn’t happen often. And after one of my men used my name and connections to start fencing heavier shit, it likely won’t happen again.”
“You said you do freelance work. What do you actually do?”
“I didn’t lie. All my work is freelance. I’m a private investigator.”
Night of surprises.
The Kool-Aid man could ‘Ohhh yeah’ his way through the wall, and I wouldn’t even blink.
I rubbed a spot on the center of my forehead that’d begun to ache from the emotional whiplash. “As in you follow cheating spouses around for a living?”
“Fook no. That shit’s boring and depressing.” He paused for a moment and stroked his beard as he thought. “Someone—or something—goes missing, people pay me a shit-ton to find them or it.”
“That sounds… normal. Legit.” My tone was filled with disbelief as I added, “Legal.”
“My methods aren’t legal.” No hesitation or bullshit. “People are scared shitless of me because I have no loyalties to anyone but myself and the men who work for me. If I’m taking a job, it’s because I believe in it. Which means I’ll do whatever I have to do. I’m determined.” His eyes heated. “If I want something, it’s mine.”
Damn, that’s hot. Why is that hot? Why the hell is my body betraying me right now?
“That means I’ve done bad things to bad people,” he continued. “I told you, I’m not the good guy, but I’m not the baddest.”
He’s Batman…
Just the darker, gritty reboot with more murder.
And no visible nipple on his batsuit.
KILLIAN
I’m gonna break my word.
Never in my life had I broken a promise. But when I’d told Gus I’d fly home that night if she told me to, it’d been a flat out lie.
She pushed her food around her plate. “So when you left before dinner, something was missing?”
“I was following whispers. But the next day, someone ended up missing,” I said before telling her about Rick, Harlow, and Kase.
Toward the end, she looked pissed, and I worried I’d said something to set her off.
“That asshole!” She shook my hand off hers, and I braced. She didn’t stand, though, just slammed her small fist onto the table. “He was gonna get her hooked on drugs and prostitute her out?”
“Aye.”
“That fucker. Did you kill him?”
“Aye,” I said again, warier.
“Good. I hope you made it hurt. And I hope you kill the in-charge guy even more painfully.”
I wasn’t sure whose brows raised higher, hers or mine. I did know that when her words sank in, her hand flew to cover her mouth and mine dropped to adjust my hard dick before it broke.
“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean that,” she said, but she was looking at the ceiling. “I’ve gotta get a handle on this pettiness and this mouth.”
There are a lot of things I want to do with that mouth.
“What about going to Ireland for work?” she asked.
“My uncle calls me when he needs my help.”
Lowering her voice like the room was bugged, she whispered, “Is he part of the Irish mafia?”
I couldn’t help but bark out of a laugh.
“Take that as a no,” she grumbled.
“What do ya know about the Irish mafia, lass?”
“I dunno. Real IRA was on Sons of Anarchy, and they seemed like dicks. Of course, TV and movies lied about the tie on the door and the shoulder holster, so clearly I know nothing.”
“The Irish mob is real, but my Uncle Conor isn’t part of it. He works in the government, lives in a big house with a shit-ton of servants, and would probably faint at the sight of blood. Living with him is how I learned to set a table.”
“I can relate to the blood part.” Her head tilted. “Then what work do you do there?”
“Same as here. Sometimes, like the day you moved in, it’s about finding someone. Other times, Uncle Conor has me get the Irish answers before a war breaks out. They know they can trust that I’m not gonna lie or cover someone’s ass because I don’t give a single shit about them.”
“Last time, did you find the someone?”
I shook my head. “Bu
t it was his own stupidity that’d gotten him killed.”
She went silent for too long, her hand gestures and eye twitches making it clear she was stuck in her head.
“What happened with your ma, mo chuisle?” I asked.
“She was a partier who’d gotten pregnant with me when she was really young. Even after all she’d put them through, my meema and papa were supportive and loving. The let her stay, helped with me, and went above and beyond. Their only stipulation was she had to stay completely clean.” Gus looked more annoyed than sad. “When I was four, she loaded me into her latest soul mate’s car and we went to Boston. She called Meema when we arrived and told her she was chasing her dreams, trying to be a model.”
“Your nan is smart. She didn’t see through that?”
She shook her head. “My mom laid on a bunch of guilt. Said they were smothering her and she wanted a fresh start. She must’ve been convincing because Meema and Papa would’ve come to get me if they even suspected she was using. Everything was fine for a while, but then she started going downhill fast. I was seven when she OD’d. My Papa had died of a heart attack the week before.”
Gus was a sweet, smart lass who should’ve had an easy life in the suburbs. I’d had no clue she’d gone through so much ugly.
Survived it.
“Meema was happy to have me back and has never bitched about having to raise another kid.” She gave me a wobbly smile. “That’s why I need to stay here. People never let me forget I was the daughter of Bonnie Allan, town druggie. But Meema never let me forget I was Gus Allan. My own person. I can’t ditch her now.”
“Gus—”
“I’m not mad at you. I mean, I was pissed at first, but you managed to find the one way associating with drugs didn’t equal me wanting to kick you in the junk. And I don’t know what it says about me as a person, but I think what you do is cool. I’m hoping you don’t have a confidentiality clause because I’d love to hear about your cases. But it’ll have to be over the phone.”
“That’s bullshit.”
She jerked back before her spine went straight. Raising her chin, she looked strong and stubborn. Pissed and ready to give it to me.
My dick, which had gone down, jerked and hardened along my thigh.
“It’s not,” she snapped.
“It is.”
“No, it’s fucking not!”
Reaching over, I palmed the back of her head and pulled her to me. I paused with my forehead against hers, breathing heavily, trying to gain control.
But she didn’t give me the chance.
Gus pressed her lips against mine.
The kiss was hard. Desperate.
Sad.
Her tongue tried to push in. When I wouldn’t give her what she wanted, she started biting, her teeth scraping and tugging at my bottom lip. I still wouldn’t engage, so keeping her mouth on mine, she pushed her chair back until it clattered to the ground. She straddled me, nearly knocking over the small table.
It fookin’ killed me, but I fisted my hand in her hair and held her to me before finding the strength to tug her away. “Not fookin’ you, Gus.”
“Why not?” she asked, her pout almost as sexy as her fire.
Almost.
“Because you’re trying to fook me goodbye.”
“My meema needs—”
“Bullshit.” I gripped her hips. “Your nan told me if I don’t get you to stay in Boston, she’s taking off to Aruba. She said you’re cramping her style.”
Crossing her arms, she scoffed, but her heart wasn’t in it. “She did not.”
“Aye, and you know it because she told you the same damn thing. I’m also pretty sure she’s got a man over there now.”
“No, she does not!”
That fire in her eyes gets me every time.
I’m gonna get burned, and I couldn’t give a single fook.
“Why’re you surprised? I’m not touring bingo halls for dates, but she was probably talent back in the day.” My hold on her hips tightened. “Betting you’ll age even better, which means I’m gonna be boosting shipments of little blue pills for my own use.”
Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again. With her still on my lap, I got an up-close view of the pink spreading across her cheeks. “You’re impossible.”
“Nah, I’m honest. And you need to be, too. Your nan doesn’t want you here because she wants you to be Gus Allan. The one who makes petty claims and moves her cute rear to Boston to make it happen. Because that’s your dream.”
“Meema has a big mouth.”
“And she’s a fast talker.”
“I’m not fishing for compliments with this, I swear. I know I’m at least ten percent hotter than an ogre. Five percent if we’re talking Shrek because you know I’m a sucker for an accent.” Her playful smile faded, leaving her looking thoughtful. “Why’re you putting in all this work for some chick you found raving like a lunatic in a hallway a few weeks ago?”
“Because you’re Gus Allan.”
“It—”
“Doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”
“And—”
“Not just to fook you.” I gripped her hips harder and pulled her against me so she could feel what she did to me. “Though I’d give my left fookin’ nut to feel you around my dick.”
Her lips parted and she inhaled sharply, making my dick jump. “But—”
“It’s not ‘cause you’re fook-all hot—though you damn sure are. It’s ‘cause you’re also funny. Smart as hell. Messy as shit. But sweet and fearless and wild. Fookin’ perfect. That’s why I love you.”
She threw her arms out. “Will you let me finish a freakin’ sentence? I was trying to say, I know it hasn’t been long, but…” Her words trailed off as her eyes got big. “What’d you just say?”
“I—”
“Killian, that’s crazy. This is crazy. You’re crazy.” Even as she spoke, her smile grew.
“Mo chuisle—”
“We’ve known each other less than a month!”
“Now who’s interrupting?”
She pressed her lips closed before opening them to mutter, “You deserve it.”
“Aye, I do.”
“It’s been less than a month,” she whispered, like I didn’t know. Like I hadn’t paid attention to each day she’d been in my damn life.
“Tell me you don’t feel it,” I demanded, my voice low and rough. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you honestly don’t fookin’ feel what’s between us.”
“You know I do. But—”
That was all I needed to hear.
GUS
My arguments flew from my head as Killian’s mouth took mine. Not because his kisses made me stupid, though they kinda did. Not because I was some pliable woman, bending to his will at the hint of attention. Not even because I wanted him so damn badly.
It was because they were bullshit excuses.
I was staying and he was going back to Boston. Distance didn’t mean we couldn’t be together. We’d talk, figure it out, and go from there.
We’d make it work.
Because even when we were only friends, just the thought of saying goodbye to Killian had broken my heart.
I’d known he was hanging with Batman in the gray area. He’d never lied or hidden that. He’d explained the drugs and said he was finished, so I was okay with it. Him being a PI was cool as shit. The murder part…
Tearing away from his kiss, I bit back a moan as his fingers dug in again and his mouth moved to my neck. There was no holding it in when he used his hold to push me against the proof of how much he wanted me.
“Wait,” I panted. “About the… murder. Can you, umm, tone that down a little?”
“Done.” No hesitation.
“That easily?”
“It’s not like you’re asking me to give up scotch and cigars, though I’d do that, too. If you’re off your nut enough to wanna be in my bed, I’m gonna do every-f
ooking-thing I can to keep you there. I’m not gonna fook up, do something that’ll get me killed—or worse—and give some other man the opening to take you from me.”
There was a lot of good in what he’d said. Things that made my heart full and my panties wet. Still, I had to ask, “What’s worse than getting killed?”
“Getting locked up. Me and confined spaces don’t do well together.”
Okay, yeah, that’d be worse.
His hands skimmed up my sides. “We good now? ‘Cause I’ve been waiting—” He stopped suddenly before finishing, “A long time to feel you, and the longer you’re on my dick, lass, the more my control is slipping.”
I opened my mouth to ask about why he’d paused, but Killian didn’t give me the chance. His lips hit mine, his tongue swept in, and he kissed me like he was trying to memorize the taste.
Like I was his.
When I reached for his shirt that time, he helped me pull it off before doing the same with mine. My bra followed, the soft cups replaced by Killian’s large, rough hands. He squeezed my breasts, teasing his thumbs across my nipples.
I moaned into the kiss before sucking his tongue.
Standing suddenly, Killian gripped my ass and held my pussy against his hardness, stooping to keep our mouths connected. A few moments later, he released me, dropping me on the bed. I hadn’t even stopped bouncing when he gripped the waistband of my leggings—book ones that time—and tore them and my panties down my legs.
Going up on my elbows, I watched as he undid his jeans. When I’d thought about it—and I’d thought about it way too often—I’d guessed he was a boxer briefs kinda guy. But as he shoved the jeans down, I saw I was wrong.
He was a nothing kinda guy.
If I’d known he was going commando, there’s no way I would’ve been able to stop myself from climbing on him.
Even right then, I was about to lunge for him but froze when he wrapped his fist around himself.
His stare seared my skin as he slowly stroked. “Used to think about this every night. Knowing you were in my bed… I’d lay on the couch, dick in hand, picturing you spread under me.”
Hearing he did that, likely while I was thinking something similar with my hand between my legs, was a heady power. It made me bold. Fearless.