I scanned the back of her head, her raven-blue locks twisted together into a braid, flung over one side of her shoulder. The contrast of her dark hair with her pale everything—eyes, skin, features—made her delectable and forbidden, much younger than her twenty-seven years.
“You know I’ll find out either way. Do yourself a favor and give me the information now,” I hissed, not used to people talking back to me.
Another first for me, sponsored by the unlikely Aisling Fitzpatrick and her newly found spunk.
She turned around, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“I’d like to see you try. Now please help me return Dumb to the reception, and fetch me Dumber. Go on, now.” She waved me off with a huff.
Nix went on to put Angus’ arm in a makeshift cast then proceeded to tell him how to tend to his injury, talking to him like she was a teacher and he was a schoolboy who had just crapped his pants in the middle of morning assembly.
As I watched her, I reminded myself that my need to fuck her was really about my desire to fuck Gerald Fitzpatrick over. Nothing more. She was a great fuck, sure, and a fairly harmless girl who’d been chasing me around for a decade. Of course I wanted in her pants. What man wouldn’t?
I just wanted to ruin another thing that was precious to Gerald.
Only in Aisling’s case, I was going to spare her. Or spite her by not giving her what she wanted. I really wasn’t sure which of the two had driven me to not touch her. All I knew was I had healthy instincts, and my instincts told me to stay the fuck away from this woman—far away.
When she was done, and both soldiers were waiting for me at the reception, she sauntered back to the small sink for another vigorous scrub of her hands and arms, still ignoring me like her life depended on it.
“What do I owe you?” I took out my wallet, plucking out a wad of cash.
“Nine grand, plus supplies, so let’s round it to eleven. Cash only.” She plucked a paper towel off the stand, wiping her hands then slam-dunking the wad of paper into a trash can.
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t arrive, I narrowed my eyes.
“You’re kidding me.”
“Heavens, Brennan. I’m a highborn woman. I lack anything resembling a good sense of humor. Goes against everything I’ve been taught in Catholic school,” Ash said gravely. “Do you think it would be less pricey if you took them to the hospital?”
“I think if I took them to the hospital, they wouldn’t have been treated in some frat boy’s fucking basement.”
She poked her lip with a finger as she considered my words, unaffected. The only thing reminding me I was the one in control of the situation was her bottomless eyes. They held a promise to always want what I had to offer.
“They’re alive and well. Same result as you’d get at the hospital. I’m sorry, I assumed you’d have this kind of money handy. Would you like me to let you know about our payment options, Mr. Brennan?”
The little shi—
I stepped forward, eating up all of the distance between us in one go, baring my teeth as I boxed her in with my arms on either side of her shoulders, against the wall.
“What are you playing at, Nix?”
“Nothing.” Her eyes widened innocently. Blue, so terribly blue, and every shade of the color under the sun: ocean, sky, crayon, you name it. “You asked for my services. I assumed you were prepared to pay for them.”
“You don’t need the money.” I was chest-to-chest with her now, and here it was again, that faint ginger smell mixed with flowers and honey that gave me déjà vu of things and places I’d never experienced.
I’ll do things to you you will never forget.
“Neither do you. So pay up. I’ll be seeing you at Thanksgiving dinner. You can pay me then.” Ash smoothed her dress, which was now stained in Becker’s blood.
Right.
The world still turned on its axis, and our families continued to play nice with one another, oblivious to my vendetta. Other than Troy, who knew better than to ever let it slip.
The Fitzpatricks were hosting a Thanksgiving dinner next week. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but for all the wrong reasons, and none of them had anything to do with their cook’s stuffed turkey.
“Now if you excuse me …” Nix ducked under my shoulder, trying to slip away. I pushed forward, pinning her in place against the wall. If it wasn’t for the slight quivering of her chin, I could have sworn she was cool as a cucumber. But that small shake betrayed her, and I seized the opportunity to tilt said chin upward, forcing her to look at me.
“How about a kiss?” I coaxed, my palm sliding from her wrist to her waist, down the curve of her firm ass, squeezing as I pulled her closer to me. I didn’t like the power shift between us and wanted to remind her who was the boss. I felt her thighs shaking against my sprawled fingers, ready and wanting, shivered into me as I gathered her close. Her body was soft, smooth, feminine. With hidden curves I had no business thinking about and was paid to ignore.
Her heat radiated between our clothes, and I stifled a groan, yanking her braid, extending her neck and forcing her to look at me.
“Would a kiss be a sufficient form of payment?” I murmured, my lips gliding down the side of her neck.
She said nothing, her heart slamming against mine erratically, begging for more.
Rearing my head back, I crashed my mouth against hers punishingly, resenting her for my need to taste her—and myself for yielding to temptation.
It was a brutal kiss, with teeth and claws and tongue, designed to humiliate her, to remind her which one of us was in control.
Aisling’s lips molded over mine immediately, compliant and soft. She moaned gently, her tongue meeting mine thrust for thrust, like we were fucking each other, her fingers curling around the collar of my shirt, drawing me closer. I bit her lower lip until I split it open, her warm, metallic blood trickling into my mouth. She tensed but didn’t break the kiss.
Break the fucking kiss, Aisling.
Show me I’m too much for you.
I sucked on her blood, pulling her entire lip into my mouth, and she let me, the little monster that she was.
“You taste like an ashtray,” she purred into my mouth. Viper-like, her words dripped venom while she still devoured me hungrily, not letting go.
“Maybe so, but you taste like an easy lay, my least favorite flavor of woman.” I chuckled darkly, putting more pressure on her lips, kissing her harder, tasting her blood and her tears and her anguish and enjoying all of them because they were mine.
So fucking salty. So fucking sweet.
I was hard. So hard, I knew I was in real danger of taking her on the surgical table she had used just minutes ago to stitch up the two morons on my payroll. I tore my mouth from hers, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone. She stumbled forward, losing balance. I let her fall on my chest but didn’t help her right herself.
“Now we’re even.” I shoved the wallet back into my pocket, surprised to see that despite feeling her tears earlier, her face was dry and calm.
“Oh, you thought a kiss would be your payment as opposed to the eleven grand you owe me? Oh my…” she clutched the pearls on her neck, twisting them exaggeratedly, like her mother would “…my apologies, Mr. Brennan. I don’t accept sexual favors as payment. That would be my father’s specialty, and I very much doubt he’d be interested in what you have to offer. I would still like the money at Thanksgiving. What’s the common interest your loan sharks use? Forty-five percent? That suits me. Now, have a good rest of the day, Mr. Brennan, and do take care.”
CHAPTER 5
AISLING
The eleven thousand dollars was waiting on the nightstand in my bedroom the following morning, stacked high and neat, pinned with a golden bullet. There was also one penny right beside them, and a note scribbled messily in bold, long strokes.
Here. Buy yourself something pretty.
It should have terrified me.
The fact that Sam had been in my vicinity—in my room—while I was sound asleep. He could’ve slit my throat if he wanted to. Instead, I felt white-hot thrill washing through my veins as I imagined his imposing, colossal figure casting a shadow over my sleeping body, his hands that could snap my bones like twigs so close to my spine.
He’d been there when I was in my flimsy nightgown, my hair fanned over the white satin pillow, dreaming of his crushing weight above me, making love to me.
I knew he would not send anyone else. No. None of his soldiers would do. He would never allow them to get anywhere near me. He violated my space, yes, but I knew there were limits between us. Unwritten rules that made me feel safe.
I picked up the bullet—cold, metallic, and heavier than I expected—mulling it over as it sat in my hand.
Did he stop and stare? Did he replay the kiss we’d shared at the clinic in his head? We’d almost tore each other’s mouths apart.
I could still feel a faint pulse against my lips.
Sometimes I suspected Sam felt it, too. The wild electricity buzzing between us every time we were in the same room. Whenever he looked at me with those silver moon eyes as they slanted just so, zeroing in on me, watching.
Other times he would be in my vicinity, having a meal with my father or a beer with Devon, Cillian, and Hunter, and ignore my existence so thoroughly, so convincingly, I’d forget I was in the room, too.
He was a mystery, and mysteries were meant to be unearthed, uncovered, and unfolded. I’d finally caught his attention—snatched it against his will—grasping onto it with bloodied fingers, and I had every intention of keeping it.
I was going to fight him tooth and nail, go head-to-head with the underworld’s king just so I could have him. Prove to him that I was worthy of his attention and his love.
So I did the only thing I could do, knowing that I had an entire week to wait until Thanksgiving dinner, when I’d see him again.
It was crazy, and dangerous, not to mention illegal, and yet, so classically Sam I couldn’t resist the temptation. Show him I was Nix through and through. A cunning monster who just happened to look good in a gown.
The night after he put the money on my nightstand, I drove to Badlands, found the back door to the place right behind the building, by an alley and stacked monopoly money—11k of it—and pinned it with the lone penny he’d left for me. Then I drenched it in gasoline and set fire to it.
I knew he would never know the difference. That he would think it was really the money he had given me, but I’d donated that money to my charity of choice. Something Ms. B would have wanted me to do.
I ran back to my car, ducking behind the window as I peeked to see the back door opening as the stench of burned paper seeped through the cracks. Sam appeared, accompanied by Dumb and Dumber. Dumb ran back to the office to bring a fire extinguisher while Dumber desperately tried to defuse the fire by pouring water and handfuls of snow on it, his arm still in a sling.
Sam just stood there and grinned devilishly, watching the money burn.
He didn’t need a written note to read the fuck you in what I did.
He knew.
The Fitzpatrick clan had always been huge on Thanksgiving.
I suspected it was because we had so much to be thankful for.
Not only were we one of the richest families in the country, but we were also blessed with nieces and nephews, all rosy-cheeked, healthy, and barely into their toddlerhood.
The day of Thanksgiving butlers fretted about the long table in our dining room, rearranging maple leaf bowls made out of gold, pumpkins, champagne glasses, and ornaments. The centerpieces were bursting with fall and winter fruit, and everything was laced with gold and silver. Warm and inviting candlelight illuminated the room, and the scent of cinnamon and sugared dough traveled from the kitchen, tickling my nostrils.
Pacing back and forth in my off-the-shoulder orange Givenchy dress—I knew wearing it would please Mother, who had recently been quite the pain to serve and dote on—I stopped by the window, watching my brother Cillian unload his family from his car, an imperial frown on his face.
He opened the door for Persephone—Persy, that was what we called her—scooping little Astor into a BabyBjorn he strapped over his shoulders. My breath caught, and my heart squeezed at the sight of my brother doing something so fatherly, so caring, in such a natural manner despite his usual cold and aloof demeanor.
The minute Astor was secured close to his chest, Cillian leaned down and pressed a kiss on his son’s head.
I realized I was jealous. Jealous of my good friend Persy, who deserved this life more than anyone else I knew—and still, I wanted what she had for myself.
Not who she had it with, obviously—I was crazy, but not the shade of crazy who was okay with incest—but I wanted it with someone I couldn’t have. Sam.
Turning away from the window, I pretended to busy myself by rearranging perfectly arranged ornaments at the center of the table.
Sam was going to arrive soon, and I needed to gather every dollop of strength to face him with my head held high and my back straight.
“Ash?” I heard a voice wonder behind me and turned around to find Persy tucking a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear. She was wearing a romantic evening dress with a beautiful floral print, holding a wide-awake baby Astor in her arms. His marble-blue eyes glittered at me with delight, a shock of chocolate hair covering his tender head. He threw his chubby arms in my direction, and I scooped him up with a thrilled squeak, pressing him to my chest and inhaling his intoxicating baby scent.
“Hey, Pers…” I rubbed my cheek against Astor’s silky strands, marveling yet again at how much he looked like his father “…how are you?”
“I’m great. You looked thoughtful through the window. Which was why I bypassed the usual hugs and kisses routine to see how you were doing. Your mother looks … preoccupied.” She took a seat at the table, eyeing me curiously.
Preoccupied was a very nice way of putting it. My mother was working me to the bone these days, asking me to help with her bath, read her books, and drive her around because she didn’t want to converse with her usual driver. But I wasn’t in the mood to talk about that.
“Where’s Cillian?” I walked around the room with Astor, who wanted to reach and touch everything.
“With Gerald in his office. I can’t believe he did that to your mom.” Persy bit the inside of her cheek. She had always been nice and gentle, and I knew she spared me the more blunt words I was bound to hear from Sailor and Belle.