by JL Mac
“Oh, don’t stop,” I cry, digging my fingers into his defined back. A guttural, animalistic noise reverberates through his chest as my body seizes around him, clenching and releasing as I cry out his name.
“Ena,” he groans, driving himself into me twice more before stilling, fully sheathed in me. He pulses deep inside, releasing his own pleasure. He collapses against me, leaden and sweaty. I kiss the hollow between his shoulder and neck, loving the taste of his sweat on my tongue.
All I can think of is my three words for today. They’re bright and shining like a fully lit marque in the midnight sky.
I.
Love.
You.
I wish I had the courage to say them.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Beast
I didn’t drift off until sometime around dawn. How could I? I had made love for the very first time in my life. I didn’t just fuck her. I didn’t just chase an orgasm over some invisible cliff, diving into perfect release. I’d held her, fought back against the end all the while committing her face to my memory. I watched tears gather in her eyes, knowing that she feels something. She feels something—I know she does. I’m not alone in this. That’s the part that made her confession that much more difficult. She sleepily rolled closer, nuzzling her face against my chest.
“I’m in love with you,” she confessed only half awake. I froze. My heart stopped cold in my chest.
She’s in love with me. She’d said so.
Yeah so what, she was half asleep, my inner voice sneers at me.
It still counts, so that little mocking voice in my head can fuck off. My woman is in love with me. That’s what makes this part so hard. I glance back at the bed where she’s sprawled, wild hair going in every direction. It seems to get lighter and lighter by the day. Every shower she takes slowly rinsing away the brown streaks she’d obviously had put in. Her vivid red strands seem to gather up all light and hold it there around her. She’s stunning in every way. I swallow, silently tell her that I am impossibly in love with her too and that’s exactly why I’m leaving. The note I have left for her doesn’t say that though. I scrawled it quickly and left it before I had a chance to change my mind.
You do not belong here in this world or in my life. Go home.
That’s what I wrote. What I didn’t write was how much my chest hurts, or how the knot in my throat feels like I’m going to choke on every breath I take in. I didn’t tell her that I love her but that I have to do what I have to do. I didn’t tell her how everything about her calls to me and I for damn sure didn’t tell her that she can’t be mine because she is one hundred percent Orin McCrae’s daughter. I didn’t tell her I am ghosting on her because I want to know she is safe and living a happy, normal life with all its accompanying monotony. I didn’t tell her this is the very fucking last thing I want to do but the most important thing I must do. I didn’t even sign it. I simply left it on the bedside table. The lovesick weakling in me wants to yank her from my sheets and into my arms and hold her there while I confess it all, make her see things how I see them, make her understand. But… the leader of High Knoll in me, he’s in charge, and he forces me to stop being a pathetic excuse for a leader and man. Now, I slip out of the penthouse, refusing to look back like some common fuckin’ rat making my getaway. I scamper off, refusing to go back. Refusing to do what I want to. Refusing to drag her to Vegas and marry her and give her babies and the goddamn universe if that’s what she wanted.
“Fuck!” I roar in the elevator feeling like a caged animal. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I slam my fist against the cool metal interior. A shock of pain seems to shoot straight from my hand to my chest. I grit my teeth and ignore the warmth of blood trickling from my knuckles, down my fingers, dropping against the floor.
I get behind the wheel of my Aston Martin that Rick delivered back to the parking garage last night and I slam my palms against the wheel, hating that every fucking molecule in my body is screaming at me to go back to her. I shake with emotion that I can’t even begin to describe. Is this love? Is it guilt? Regret? Lust? Weakness? All of the above?
I shake my head, breathe deeply and tear out of the parking garage, unsure of where to go but certain that I have to.
Murphy grumbles but opens his door, holding his finger over his lips, shushing me as I come in.
Since when is he Mr. Considerate?
His observant eyes scan my thrashed right hand and he strolls away, returning a moment later with a first aid kit. He slides it across the counter to me and turns away. “Let me guess,” he says dryly, before tapping a button on the front of the coffee pot in his kitchen.
“I gotta let her go,” I whisper hating the way the words feel in my mouth. They’re cumbersome and tasteless.
“Why?” he asks shaking his head as he turns back to face me, his knowing brown eyes burrowing under my skin.
“Ah,” I groan rubbing my face. “What I’m about to tell you… it goes without sayin’. If you speak a word of it to anyone I’ll gut you myself,” I warn. Murph cocks his head at me, his eyes narrowed to dark slits.
“Think it goes without sayin’ that you fuckin’ know me better,” he growls, obviously offended. Fair enough.
“Yeah.” I rub my hand against the knot forming at the nape of my neck. I take a deep breath and spit it out before I think better of it. “She’s Orin’s. Ena is his daughter. I don’t know how yet, but the rumors were a lie. The Italians never killed his baby when she was kidnapped from the hospital,” I say shaking my head, still in disbelieving the whole thing.
“You’re sur—” he begins, his tone saturated with the same incredulity I’ve been contending with.
“I saw the birthmark on her neck. Same as the baby in the picture in his office. I had the DNA tested to be sure. But if you look at her,” I say shaking my head.
“Or’s wife,” he whispers low and I can practically see the cogs in his brain turning, working it all out.
“Got the results back the night we hit the Bratva gambling joint,” I confess in a rush, pacing his kitchen. He slowly turns to the cabinet, grabbing a mug. I continue pacing the floor, fighting the urge to go right back to her, crawl in bed and be selfish for the rest of my life. “What the fuck do I do now?” I ask Murphy who is leaning against his refrigerator with a cup of coffee in one hand a dazed expression on his face.
“No one else knows?”
“You and me makes two,” I affirm.
“It’s your call and whatever you decide, I respect it. Just tell me what you need from me.”
I brace my weight against my palms, firmly planted against Murphy’s countertop. My head hangs between my shoulders, my eyes glued to my feet. “I gotta get out of town. Gotta think. You cover for me. Send Ena home. Tell her there’s no deal. Tell her she’s free and I want her out by the time I get back—sooner actually,” I mutter begrudgingly knowing that everything in me wants her to stay put and make my home her own.
“Where you going?”
“No clue,” I mumble weakly as I let myself out of Murphy’s apartment.
To my surprise, twenty minutes later as I’m driving through Boston in no particular direction, my phone buzzes and it’s Murph.
Murphy: Rick’s Ma willed him a cabin. He said you can stay there. Key under the blue flowerpot on the back porch. I’ll send directions now. Gimme a minute.
Two and a half hours of driving in the direction Murph sent me led me to a little cabin, cottage—whatever—in the middle of nowhere. I’ve been camped out here for a week and a half. I turned off my cell phone a few hours after I got here and I realized she’d likely be waiting by her phone for word from me. I’d almost texted her a dozen times. But what would I say? What could I say? I finally turned the fuckin’ thing off and shoved it into the glove compartment of my car. To her credit, the few times I have powered it on to check for messages, there was nothing and of course there wouldn’t be. My gorgeous, brave, ballsy as hell woman wouldn’t beg. She’d walk away
with dignity and spit on the memory of me. I don’t blame her.
Sooner than later I’ll have to get back home, back to work, back to my obligations to the crew. Things are as calm as they will ever be with the Italians, but our war with the Russians is ongoing. It’s all the more reason to pluck Ena from this world. I couldn’t cope if anything happened to her. I just need a few more days hiding out here to let the wound scab over before I risk opening it again. I have no foolish notions of Ena going completely quietly. I know she will keep her chin up but part of her bigger than life courage is that she requires an explanation and as far as I can tell, revenge. She’d said that she was falling in love with me. She’d also shown me just how dedicated she is to people she cares for. She followed her sister’s trail right into the Boston underworld world and didn’t bat an eye at it. I have no stupid misconceptions about Ena’s ability to pursue something she’s committed to.
Is she committed to you? Fully?
If she is, I don’t fucking deserve it. God, how I don’t deserve it. A terrible niggling at the back of my mind tells me that my little spitfire won’t just take my dismissal on the chin. She’s going to want her twelve rounds with me, her chin up, daring me to land a blow. She won’t let me vanish on her. She won’t take a brush off and cold shoulder just lying down. She’s going to square up and go round for round until one of us hits the mat, bruised and bloodied. Hurting her—a knockout punch—may be the only way to send her off and guarantee she won’t return. I’ll have to wound her bad enough, cut her deep enough that she won’t want to see my face or hear my name ever again.
I take a long pull of whiskey and allow myself one more day. One more day to break her heart and mine too. She deserves safety and a normal fucking life and as much as I loathe the idea of hurting her, it is a means to an end. Breaking her heart equates to safety so that is exactly what I will do. I’ll break her. I’ll wound her as deeply as I can. I’ll rip her heart out. Maybe I can break it beyond repair.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ena
Ten days.
Ten days of questioning what happened? Ten days wondering if I’d done something wrong? Something right? I’m free. No deal. “… don’t belong,” and “… wants you out,” were just a couple of the messages Murphy had passed along for Carrick. Of course I had read his little note when I woke up that morning after we made love. My eyes scanned the paper a dozen times before it began to register. He was ditching me. The part of me that knew Carrick was capable of breaking the heart I so easily handed over is pursing her lips and shaking her head at my foolishness. Shouldn’t I be overjoyed at this turn of events? I know I should. Murphy came to the penthouse that morning and ordered me to pack my things and all but picked me up and carried me out himself like the trash Beast needed disposed of. I’d sensed his pity though. Pity and—something indiscernible—were right there in his rich brown eyes for me to see. If how much I love Carrick is so obvious to his closest friend then how is it not obvious to Carrick too? Or does he simply not care? From the moment he left, these questions and about a thousand more have rolled over in my mind repeatedly, a merciless loop that has set me on edge, deprived me of sleep, and any appetite for anything.
Murphy took me back to his place and I’ve been with Lan for these last ten days. He has declared today the day we go home though he didn’t seem too happy about it when he’d said as much last night.
“You can’t tell her the truth,” Lan insists. I shake my head tiredly in response to her willfulness.
“Lan, there’s no other way. We have to tell her the truth. Most of it,” I amend the last part. Lan bugs her eyes, her cheeks pinking. “You wanna try and lie your way out of this you go ahead but Mom is going to know. She’s raised two daughters. She can sniff out a bullshit story from a mile away. We tell her to truth—most of it,” I hold up my hand ticking off the order of business. “We explain what happened and we tell her that High Knoll demands our silence and cooperation or we die. Period.”
“That’s not true, though,” she yells.
“It’s not but it’s going to be the only way Mom doesn’t run to the department and give a statement.”
“What about Kevin?” she snaps, looking from me to Murphy, then back again. Murphy’s cold brown eyes lift to her and she seems to get whatever it is that he has silently communicated.
“I’m not worried about Kevin Santini in the slightest and neither should you. Right now we stay focused on going home and smoothing things over with a solid story. Got it?”
Lan grumbles, raking her hands through her golden hair.
“And what if I don’t want to go anywhere?” she asks me but her eyes are fixed on Murphy.
“You don’t have a fucking choice and after the shit I have gone through to retrieve you, I wouldn’t test me on the matter. You are going home,” I grind out with my finger pointing at her, daring her to test me.
“Fine,” she clips. “Just. Fine!” She storms out of Murphy’s living room. A moment later, the slamming of doors tells me she’s finally packing what few things she has here. Mostly things Murphy has graciously provided her with. Clothes, shoes, makeup, soaps, perfumes, and lotions, most of which she hasn’t even touched. I could be imagining things, but Murphy has a softness when he looks at Lan and Lan has definitely clung to Murphy since he brought her home to his place. But as he’d announced last night, it’s time to go. Focusing on how to get back to our lives has been a balm on the ache I’ve been working hard to ignore. The implications of admitting that I’ve fallen in love with Carrick are far too much to digest right now. Dad would forbid it. I’m supposed to be a cop one day. He tried to kill me. He’s a criminal. I would never have a normal life around him or High Knoll. What if I just fell deeper in love? What if I wanted him forever? I’d be forfeiting normalcy, perhaps even safety. I’d be dragging Mom and Lan into this world by default. I can’t allow myself to fall any deeper.
Too late.
Despite myself, I check my cell phone for the millionth time in a week and a half. I grumble under my breath and shove my phone into the back pocket of my denim shorts. “Let me know when you are ready and I’ll take your things to your car.” For now, focusing on the task at hand and concentrating on Lan is casting a fog over the ache in my chest. Something in my gut tells me that my distractions will only work so long. You don’t meet and fall in love with a man like Carrick and simply walk away. You crawl, limp, scuttle, and claw at the earth beneath you, lying to yourself, insisting the hurt will ebb as you inch away. You insist to yourself that every inch further from him, every second that you make it through without him, you’ll get better. Perhaps you even convince yourself of the bullshit for a time but I know my heart isn’t buying any of it. The frisson of fear slipping around my heart is revealing and it whispers against my awareness, “foolish woman. You smelled the sweetest rose and you have bled by the thorns. You are ruined.”
Mom’s words invade my mind, sweeping through me like a tidal wave of pain. “… if you can sneak close enough to catch a whiff, and avoid the gnarly thorns, you'll be ruined for all the other roses for the rest of your life. The sweetest scent amongst the thorns.”
“Sweetest scent amongst the thorns,” I mumble absently, frowning with my gaze fixed on the floor at my feet.
“What’s that?” Murph stares at me with a puzzled expression.
“Nothing. Thank you.” I nod and stuff my hands into my pockets. “Murph,” I call after him. He turns to face me, his expression as passive as ever, never giving anything away. “Where did he go?” I ask almost ashamed of how weak I must look. If my outward appearance comes anywhere close to matching what I feel inside then I definitely look weak and pathetic. Murph is tight lipped as always. I silently pray, imploring him to supply me with an answer but he just looks at me. “Will I see him again?” I ask ignoring the wobble in my voice. I am scared to hear the answer and I wish I could catch the words in the air, shove them back in my mouth, swallow them down and for
get that I had spoken them.
“Don’t know,” he says shrugging. “Get going,” he orders over his shoulder as he leaves me standing in his living room, pretending the very distinct ache in my chest isn’t my heart breaking and the sinking in my gut isn’t an indication of bad news headed my way.
Nerves grip my insides as I turn onto our street and make my way toward the blue house with white trim. Not a lot has changed since I first laid eyes on this house twelve years ago. Mom has made minor changes to the landscaping here and there and the upstairs window no longer has a pale pink curtain, but for the most part the house is just as I have always known it to be except right now, looking up at it from the street, it feels different somehow. Like this place is a relic from a lifetime ago.
I called mom as Murphy, Lan, and I had discussed. I informed her that I was back in town and that I was coming home. She knows I’m coming home but she has no idea that Lan is parked down the road with Murph.
“Mom?” I call as I let myself in. The welcoming scent of her legendary spaghetti hits me and I have to pause in the foyer, taking a deep breath as I try to gather my thoughts enough to tell her the truth. It isn’t lost on me that she has prepared the first meal I had ever had here. It’s my favorite and she knows it. That day I had come home to this place from a very bad situation. Funny how history repeats itself.
“In the kitchen,” she calls from the stove where she is rummaging through her spices. I walk further into the space and see her covering a pot on the stove before rushing at me. “Ena,” she sighs into my hair and that’s it. I come undone. What is it about your mother’s embrace that makes things fall apart and fall together too? I shudder silently in her arms, relief and sadness and stress finally getting the best of me. “Ena. Oh, Ena. What’s wrong?” Mom holds me at arms distance to look at me. The deep wrinkle of concern between her brows only spurs me on to cry harder. I tremble and shake, and let fat, hot tears full of despair and relief slide down my face. She brushes them away and clicks her tongue making those soothing sounds moms are known for. She hugs me repeatedly, withdrawing multiple times to scan my face for explanation.