by Elle Kennedy
Scowling, he humored his friend and followed the bloody light.
“Any dizziness? Nausea? Double vision?” Liam prompted as he clicked the penlight off.
“Nope. Because I don’t have a concussion.”
“What’s the date today?”
“October sixth—wanna know how I know that? Because I don’t have a bloody concussion. So take off your Florence Nightingale panties and pull on your man pants, and let’s go help D and Isabel.”
When he tried to get up, Liam planted a palm in the center of Sully’s chest. “You’re not going anywhere. You know the drill—twenty-four hours’ sabbatical to make sure you’re not concussed.”
“I’m not concussed, damn it!”
“Twenty-four hours, Aussie.” The stern look on Liam’s face indicated that arguing would be futile.
“Twelve hours,” he countered.
“Eighteen and that’s my final offer.”
They stared at each other, but Sully knew Liam wouldn’t back down. The guy was stubborn as fuck when he wanted to be. And he suddenly became aware that Liam’s hand was still on his chest. Big and warm, pulsing with power.
Sully cleared his throat and eased backward against the pillows, causing Liam’s hand to withdraw. “Fine. I’ll stay put. But you have to go.”
“Not going anywhere, Sully. What happens if I go and you try to stand up and get dizzy? Crack your head on the corner of the table and do more than pass out this time? Someone needs to monitor you.”
“No, someone needs to back up Reilly,” he shot back.
“Someone will. Ash and Oliver are relieving us.” Liam rummaged in the med kit for a bottle of oxycodone. He shook out two pills and slapped them in Sullivan’s hand, then pointed to the water bottle on the nightstand. “Take these. They’ll help with the pain. I need to call Reilly.”
As Liam went to make the call, Sullivan twisted open the bottle and shoved the painkillers back inside. Then he leaned his head against the bed frame and closed his eyes, cursing Eamon O’Hare for everything the bastard had put him through today.
* * *
Sean was ready to strangle someone with his bare hands. He’d never experienced rage so visceral as he had while staring at one of the televisions mounted on the wood-paneled wall, watching a parade of gruesome images flash across the screen.
The bomb had gone off.
It had gone off. As in, exploded. As in, Rabbit had fucking lied to him.
Sean flew across the room like a tornado, directing all that volatile energy at Rabbit, who’d ducked into the back before the chaos had erupted. He heard Bailey’s footsteps behind him but he didn’t turn around. Couldn’t stomach seeing the contempt in her eyes again.
When Macgregor had called to let them know the area wasn’t being evacuated, Sean had had a bitch of a time stopping her from getting in the car and speeding to the scene. He’d known rushing over there wouldn’t achieve a damn thing. They wouldn’t have made it there in time, and they’d had no way of stopping the explosion.
“You son of a bitch!” he hissed as he stormed into the back room. “You didn’t make the call!”
Rabbit looked up from his chair. He had a pint of lager in his hand and a vacant look on his weathered face. The accusation didn’t even penetrate, didn’t evoke a reaction.
It was Cillian who spoke, carefully advancing on Sean the way one would approach a feral animal.
“No,” Cillian said calmly. “We didn’t.”
Sean breathed through his nose, trying to control the waves of fury eddying in his gut. “Why. The. Hell. Not.”
Cillian shrugged. “Because that line of thinking never helped us in the past. Welcome to the twenty-first century, Reilly.”
Holy bloody hell. Was the man for real?
“It’s time to change direction. If we want to make a statement, then we need to actually make a statement.”
“By killing innocents?” Sean spat out. “Jesus Christ! They’re reporting ten dead. And thirteen injured. What the hell is the matter with you?” He launched the accusation at Rabbit, who just sat there, unmoving, unblinking, un-fucking-concerned.
“Calm the feck down, Reilly,” Cillian snapped. “You’re scaring your woman.”
The last comment held a mocking note, as if Cillian was well aware that Bailey wasn’t afraid—she was livid.
Sean glanced at the doorway, where Bailey stood, as expressionless as Rabbit. Oh yeah, she was furious, all right. He could see it in the barely controlled trembling of her body.
She blamed him for this. It was pretty damn obvious, especially when she turned her head the moment he looked at her.
His attention moved back to Rabbit, and he shot the man an icy glare that could have frozen melting butter in a hot pan.
“I didn’t sign up for this,” Sean announced. “You hear me, old man? I didn’t sign up for this, and I don’t intend on sticking around to see whatever crazy bullshit you plan on doing next.”
Rabbit’s veiled eyes finally revealed a flicker of emotion. Either Sean was imagining it, or that peculiar gleam was actually pride, but he was too pissed off to deconstruct Rabbit’s expression.
“I’m done with you, Eamon.” Sean’s incensed gaze shifted to Cillian. “I’m done with both of you.”
“Reilly—” Cillian started.
He was done listening. His boots made furious tracks in the floor as he marched over to Bailey. “Come on, luv, we’re outta here.”
She followed him without a word, her black hair whipping behind her as she matched his breakneck pace down the hall.
Sean ignored every single man in the main room, most of whom looked stricken and shocked by the outcome of the morning’s “scare” tactics. Sean waited for Bailey to collect her laptop and purse, then gripped her arm and ushered her out the door.
They’d just stepped onto the sidewalk when Cillian stalked out of the pub. “Reilly,” he called sharply.
Sean’s hand fell from Bailey’s arm. “Wait in the car,” he told her.
For once, she didn’t argue with him.
“You need to walk your ass back inside,” Cillian ordered.
He damn near snarled at the other man. “You don’t get to give me orders, Kelly. Not after what you did.”
A ghost of a smile appeared. “I did what was necessary. And if you were using that big brain of yours, you’d agree it needed to be done. Now, send your filly home and join us inside. It’s time to discuss our next move.”
Sean laughed. “I told you—I’m done. You can pass that message along to your boss, too. As of this moment, I’m through with being anyone’s puppet.”
Frigid blue eyes locked with his. “If you get in that car, Reilly . . . you will regret it. I’m giving you a chance, right here and now, to save yourself. And your brother. And that feisty filly of yours. Come back inside, and I’ll forget all about this little tantrum. I won’t even tell the boss about it.” Cillian’s smile held no trace of humor. “But if you leave, I can promise you this—a world of hurt will come crashing down on you.”
Sean turned away from the other man. “Fuck you, Kelly.” It wasn’t the wittiest parting speech he’d ever come up with, but it was all he had at the moment.
Cillian’s last words, however, sent a chill up Sean’s spine as they softly floated toward his retreating back.
“All right, Reilly. Have it your way, then.”
Chapter 19
“So what now, Sean? What’s your next big plan? Do we blow up a government building? A supermarket? Or maybe we should set some C-4 outside an orphanage—nobody’s more innocent than a child, right?” Bailey couldn’t contain the anger-laced sarcasm that poured out of her mouth. It spilled out like snake venom and did what she’d intended—paralyzed every muscle on Sean’s face and flooded his eyes with anguish.
But when his broad chest shuddered as if she’d shot him, regret instantly spiraled down to her stomach. The feeling came too late, though, because Sean was already stumbling
out of the room.
She stared at the empty doorway, choking on the guilt that crawled up her throat. Damn it. Damn it. She shouldn’t have fired those cruel words. She knew it wasn’t his fault that those people had died today. Deep down she really, really knew that, but the horror brought on by the successful terrorist attack had eclipsed the rational part of her brain.
If Sean hadn’t supported Kelly’s plan . . .
If he’d insisted on tipping off the police himself . . .
If . . .
Screw the ifs, a sharp voice reprimanded. You don’t operate on ifs.
No, she didn’t. She operated on facts. And the facts were—Sean had been forced to back Cillian up. He hadn’t wanted to see those civilians die any more than she had, and blaming him for the explosion was a dick move on her part.
With a frustrated groan, she hurried to the corridor and threw open the bedroom door.
Then she froze.
Sean was . . . destroyed. Oh God. Her venom had destroyed him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His head stayed buried in his hands, broad shoulders hunched over as he sat on the edge of the bed, trembling like a leaf.
Lord, he wasn’t allowed to be vulnerable like this. She was better at controlling her emotions when he was an overbearing caveman who ordered her around with hard looks and even harder words.
“Sean . . . ”
He didn’t look up. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to—she was too scared of what she might find on his face.
As her heart squeezed painfully against her ribs, Bailey approached the bed. She hesitated before finally sitting beside him.
He flinched when she touched his shoulder.
“Get the fuck out of here, Bailey.” His deep voice was muffled against his hands.
“No.” She skimmed her hand between his shoulder blades before moving it to the nape of his neck, gently stroking the soft hairs there. “Look at me.”
“No. Get out.”
Her fingers slid through his short hair and onto his forehead, then lower, tentatively brushing over his cheek. The moisture she felt on her palm brought another tight clench to her heart.
“Look at me,” she begged.
He did. Finally raising his head and letting her see his red-rimmed eyes, the shine of tears, the heart-wrenching pain.
“I stood by and let those people die,” he said dully.
“That’s not true.” Remorse rippled through her as she scooted behind him and wrapped her arms around his broad torso. As his erratic heartbeat fluttered beneath her hands, she dropped her chin on his shoulder, her lips inches from his ear. “You didn’t know what Rabbit and Kelly were planning to do. You thought they were going to call ahead.”
He sagged back against her, the heat of his body warming her own. “I should have made the call myself. I shouldn’t have trusted Rabbit to do it.” A tortured noise flew out. “He always calls ahead, Bailey. I’ve seen the Dagger pull this same intimidation ploy dozens of times before, and they always make the fucking call! That bastard Kelly convinced him not to.”
“So all those deaths are on Kelly,” she said firmly. “Not you.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Hell, you said it.”
The guilt returned. Hot and consuming, closing her throat right up. “I shouldn’t have done that. I know it’s not your fault. I just . . . needed someone to blame, I guess, and you were the most convenient target. But I’m sorry, Sean. I’m so damn sorry.”
He twisted around to look at her. The tears in his eyes had dried, but the agony remained. “I almost got Morgan’s men killed, too.”
She shook her head. “They knew what they were getting into when they came to Dublin.”
“Sullivan almost got blown up, Bailey.”
“Nah.” She smiled faintly. “The dude’s invincible. And Liam called when we were driving back here, remember? He said Sully is all stitched up and resting comfortably.”
Sean still didn’t look appeased. If anything, his expression grew fiercer. “I have to kill him.”
She tensed. “Kelly?”
“Him too. But I was talking about Flannery. If this is what he plans on turning the Irish Dagger into, then I’m damn well going to stop him.”
“And Rabbit?”
“I don’t know what to do about him yet.” Sean sounded frazzled. “Something’s going on with him. I don’t know why he allowed that bomb to go off, but I could tell he wasn’t happy about it. He’s up to something. I need to find out what.”
He was trembling in frustration again, but Bailey was there now, quick to calm him, stroking his hair until he went still. Her fingers were laced together against his chest, holding him tight to her body. He reached up and covered her hands with one of his own, his rough-skinned palm skimming over her knuckles.
“Kiss me,” he whispered.
She gave a soft laugh. “You’ll have to turn around for that. Unless . . . will any kind of kiss do?” She planted a fleeting kiss on the nape of his neck, and a shiver rolled through his body.
Before she could blink, he twisted around and pushed her onto her back, his mouth coming down on hers, rough and insistent. His tongue found hers and swirled around it, greedy, desperate strokes that left her gasping for air.
“I just . . . I . . .” He was breathing hard, looking like he was struggling for words. “I need you, Bailey.”
She was already pushing her pants down her hips with one hand, using the other to undo his zipper.
“I’m here,” she murmured. “Take me.”
There was no foreplay, just deep penetration that sucked the breath from her lungs in a rapid whoosh. Sean’s hips pistoned hard, driving his cock inside her in a frantic tempo that made the headboard smack against the wall, but Bailey knew he needed this. Needed to release the anger and adrenaline and guilt any way that he could, and she was more than happy to be the outlet.
Because hell, she needed it too. Those awful images on the news, the wreckage and the smoke and the frightened people. She wanted to shut out the gruesome sights, to lose herself in Sean’s urgent kisses and wild groans.
He pounded into her body, each punishing thrust bringing her closer to the edge as she dug her nails into his back and held on for the ride. His skin was on fire, his thick cock stretching her pussy as he plunged as deep as he could go.
“Bailey.”
He came with her name on his lips, and she groaned when she felt the sting of his teeth on her shoulder. The sharp bite was enough to trigger a blinding orgasm that made her convulse in spasms of pleasure. She clung to his sweat-soaked back, struggling to breathe, unable to move.
“I . . .” His breathing was anything but steady. “I don’t deserve you.”
As the aftershocks of her climax continued to tingle in her core, she slowly rolled their bodies so they were lying on their sides. Face-to-face, Sean still buried inside her.
“You give me too much credit,” she whispered.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he whispered back. “You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever known, Bailey.”
Sean’s cheek rested on the pillow and his green eyes were closed, giving her the opportunity to admire his face. His sharp cheekbones. Firm lips. A nose that for the most part was straight, except for the bump near the bridge. He must have broken it once or twice, most likely in a brawl he had no business being part of.
Bailey’s curiosity got the best of her, prompting her to ask, “How many times have you broken your nose?”
One eye pried open, twinkling with amusement. “Not telling you.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because that means sharing details about my childhood and I’ve decided I’m not going to do that. If you don’t share, I don’t share.”
She smiled despite herself. “So now you’re blackmailing me into talking about my past?”
“Blackmailing implies that I have something you want to keep hidden. Not the case,
luv, since you’re already hiding.” His voice went smug. “Well, I’m hiding now too.”
“Ugh. You’re so annoying sometimes. Just tell me how you broke your damned nose.”
Sean cupped her right breast and tweaked the nipple. “Tit for tat.”
She snickered.
“I mean it. You want to know about me, you have to tell me about you.”
They were treading into a minefield here, but Bailey was confident she’d be able to navigate through it without setting off too many land mines.
“Fine,” she agreed. “Tit for tat. How many times has your nose been broken, and why?”
“Twice. First time, I was sixteen, and it happened during a rugby game. Second time I was twenty-three . . .” He grinned. “Happened when I was beating the piss out of a guy who was flirting with Peggy.”
“How’d he manage to break your nose if you were the one beating the piss out of him?”
“He didn’t. Peggy broke it,” he said sheepishly. “After she pulled me off his bleeding body.”
Bailey burst out laughing. “I think I like this Peggy.”
“Trust me—you don’t. She was a real cocktease. And my cock wasn’t the only one she was teasing.”
He withdrew the cock in question from Bailey’s core, and she immediately experienced a sense of loss. One muscular arm drew her closer so their faces were inches apart.
A sliver of concern sliced through her when she realized how vulnerable they were right now. Naked, tangled in each other’s arms. Sean had banished her to the car earlier, but she’d still heard Kelly make his threats through the open window. What if he decided to act tonight? What if he sent someone to blow their heads off?
“Should we be worried about Kelly showing up?” she said in concern.
“He won’t make a move tonight, luv.”
“How are you so sure of that?”
“Because it’s Dagger protocol. Twenty-four-hour cooling-off period, remember? They set off a bomb today, for Christ’s sake. Rabbit won’t let any of the men out of his sight until the heat dies down.” Sean shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, Paige hacked into Kelly’s phone and the satnav in his car, remember? She’ll be able to see if he goes anywhere, and she’ll give us the heads-up.”