Make My Move

by J Bree

  The groan is fucking obscene.

  I have to swallow to get my voice to come out right. “I’m making French toast. Aves said it’s your favorite, consider it a peace offering. I'm only good at breakfast so you're going to have to figure something out for us to have for dinner.”

  She doesn’t reply, doesn’t move, doesn’t attempt to engage with me at all. For a second I think that maybe I’ve fucked up big time coming here and I try to explain myself a bit, as hard as that shit is. “I get you don't do Christmas but this is the first chance I've had to spend the day with someone since my da died. I've been trapped in boarding schools ever since and teachers really don't give a crap about orphaned mobster kids.”

  I turn back to the stove and start frying up the French toast, my fingers sticky with the eggy mixture. She groans again but this time she climbs out of the bed, fumbling around in one of the drawers for something to cover up.

  Even though I’ve already seen her in next to nothing, it kills me not to turn around and get a look at her.

  When she joins me in the kitchen, she has one of her ugly, oversized sweaters on that goes down to her knees. I hand her a giant cup of coffee as a peace offering and she rummages around in the cupboards for syrup and sprinkles, mumbling under her breath, “It's Christmas, we deserve some fucking sprinkles.”

  It’s too fucking cute.

  When the food is ready I make for the breakfast bar, but Lips redirects me to the floor in front of the TV instead. She puts on Nightmare Before Christmas instead of the carols and then we argue for the entire movie. Let's just say one of us thinks the movie is a Halloween movie and the other person is wrong.

  She moans softly over every bite and I feel like I’ve fucking won something.

  When she stands up to clear our plates, my gaze catches on her bare legs because I can’t fucking help how badly I want to be between them, have them wrapped around my head as I eat her out every fucking day for the rest of my life.

  She stumbles a little, her cheeks turning scarlet as she rushes to find some pants. I laugh at her because it’s a little too late for that shit.

  I’m already hooked.

  While she’s busy in the closet covering up, I head to Avery’s stash and pull out a bottle of whiskey. It’s the good shit, not that bullshit fancy crap that Blaise drinks when he wants to die. The shot glasses are a little harder to find because Floss deeply disapproves of taking shots, something about it being below her to binge drink her issues away.

  It’s definitely not below me.

  I sit on the floor where we’ve just eaten breakfast because she seems most comfortable down there, like things are less of an issue when you’re lying around on cushions in sweatpants and that’s the mood I’m going for here.

  I’m going to find out who the fuck is after her.

  When she finally comes out, wearing a pair of yoga pants that mold to her ass so fucking good that it’s still a win, her eyes take me and the alcohol in warily. I grin and hold up a shooter glass like a peace offering, praying she’ll take the shot.

  There’s a pause and then she rolls her eyes and downs it like a real fucking Mounty as she slips down onto a pillow next to me, so fucking close but not actually touching me.

  I take a shot and chase it with a beer, not wanting to admit to myself that I need the liquid courage. Well, courage isn’t exactly it but I need to keep my fucking cool when she starts getting evasive and weird about… fucking anything I ask her.

  “Aves told me you guys swap truths. I want to give that a go.”

  She arches an eyebrow at me as she rubs her palms on her yoga pants, a nervous reaction that’s one of her tells. “We also choose our own truths. I’m assuming you want to ask me questions?”

  I nod and refill the glasses. “We take turns asking. If you want to pass, take the shot.”

  She pulls a face at me. I think that I’ve pushed too hard and lost her already but after a second she nods, and I can’t help the wolfish smirk that spreads over my face.

  Fuck.

  I’m supposed to be playing it cool here.

  “Ladies first.”

  She snorts. “There are no ladies here, just you and the Mounty trash. But fine.”

  She pauses and stares around the room, her eyes anywhere but me before finally going with a cop-out question, although the flirty tone is fucking amazing. “First kiss?”

  I flick the lid from my beer at her. “Lame. Some chick in fifth grade. I can’t tell you her name, I honestly don’t remember. Yours?”

  It’s such a dumb question… until she takes the shot.

  What the fuck? “You’ve got to be kidding me? How is that classified information, Mounty?”

  “It’s my turn to ask a question.” She refills her shot glass, her eyes never straying from the glass and there’s no fucking way I’m letting this go.

  “I’ll give you a freebie. You can insist I answer something if you answer this one.”

  When she finally answers, her voice is nothing but a throaty whisper. “You. Well, one before you but I don’t count it because… well, I just don’t. Just you because I also don’t count Blaise’s pity kiss.”

  A punch to the dick would’ve been less shocking to me.

  I was her first kiss except… fuck, Joey attacked her last year. She threatened him with a knife to the dick to get away from her but that would mean—

  Surely not.

  The girl from the slums of Mounts Bay is a virgin?!

  She didn’t fucking feel like one when she was sitting in my lap wearing tiny fucking scraps of lace and grinding on my dick like she was made for it. Fuck. Fuck.

  I grab the bottle of whiskey and drink it straight because I need more than a tiny fucking shot glass will give me right now.

  Fuck.

  Get your head together, Arbour. Because, even if she’s a virgin, there’s still someone out there threatening her and now I’m beyond fucking pissed about it.

  There’s a vulnerability about her now in my eyes and I will gut any man, woman, or child that might be a threat to her without fucking hesitation.

  I try to save face with her, leaning back against the coffee table and smirking.

  She looks startled but relieved, clearing her throat. “My turn. Why get a face tattoo? I know you have the chest piece but most people fill up their arms and even their necks before getting one on their face.”

  Fuck.

  Knowing it’s coming doesn’t stop the wrenching in my gut at the idea of talking about it but I was hoping for a little while longer before she asked.

  “I didn’t choose the tattoo. Or the placement.”

  She blinks at me for a second and then when she opens her mouth for details I cut her off, “That’s your answer. You want another question, wait your turn.”

  She nods and waves a hand at me to take my turn. I don’t go for the throat like she did but I up the ante. “Worst memory?”

  “Pass.” She takes another shot.

  For fuck’s sake.

  I roll my eyes at her. “Worst memory you're willing to tell me?”

  She sighs and drums her fingers against her leg as she thinks. I’m sure she’s about to tell me to fucking shove it but then she sighs and whispers, “What's yours?”

  Fuck.

  Laying everything out for her might be the best way to get her to trust me but this shit is like poison to me. Thinking about it, talking about it, fucking dealing with it makes my whole system shut down until I’m nothing but rage and loathing and misery.

  I tip back the bottle of beer, draining it before saying, “My da being killed. My grandfather shot him, point blank, right between the eyes. If I close my eyes I can still feel the heat of his blood hitting my face.”

  She swallows.

  She doesn’t offer me condolences or any of those bullshit pretty words people say to make themselves feel better, she just sits there and really fucking hears what I’m saying. Fuck, I’m sure she’s hearing what I’m not s
aying too.

  Then she speaks and my chest feels like it’s being ripped open at her own story.

  “I’m pretty good at getting into places no one else can. I was given a job to take something from a well-known marksman. Gun for hire. Assassin. Whatever you want to call him, he was the best of the best. I was terrified but I was also hungry. Lonely. Depressed and lost. I snuck in, got what I was paid to get, and I made it to the back door before he woke up. I sprinted to the gate but my leg had only been put back together for a few months at that point and I wasn't quick anymore. Diarmuid pointed a gun at me and told me to give up my employer or he’d shoot. I turned and stared him in the eye. I thought maybe seeing how young I was would be enough to stop him but he stared at me with steady, cold eyes. So I turned and ran, and he shot me. I had to run for two miles with a fresh bullet wound, then I got sewn back together with no pain relief by some nurse turned crackhead. It got infected and I nearly died.”

  Fucking Diarmuid.

  Just thinking about him has me pissed off. The way he’d looked at her the one and only time I’ve met him still gets me fucking enraged at the sound of his name. He’d looked at her possessively, like he had this long history with her that I’ll never know about or understand, and at the time I was convinced they’d had some sort of relationship. That he’d fucked her and that’s why she’s fucking jittery around me.

  Now I’m guessing the fucker is waiting her out.

  Over my dead fucking body.

  I nod and rub at my chin, enjoying the way her eyes are glued to the action. Her cheeks are a little flushed, enough of the alcohol in her system to give her some color but she’s not anywhere near drunk yet.

  Do I even want her drunk? Do I trust myself around her if we do get fucking wasted? Shit.

  “Who forced the tattoo on you?” she says, a little hesitant but I’m ready for it this time.

  It doesn’t stop me from keeping my eyes away from hers, running a finger over the rim of my shot glass as the words tumble out of me a little easier than before. “My uncle. My da was the oldest in the family. He had nine siblings, four full blood and the rest were from my grandfather’s second marriage. Domhnall was the next boy born and he’s set to take over now that I’m out. There was a threat made against me and Ma. My grandfather didn’t give a shit. He said casualties were the price they paid for being in the business they were in and Da should just deal with it. Da didn’t trust his gut and Ma was taken. She was left outside my grandfather’s house a week later but the damage was done. She now lives in an institution for the mentally ill. It broke Da and he left, took off and left me with my grandfather. When he came back to get me, he told the family he was out. They killed him. Then, they held me down and tattooed me. The family creed is actually ‘Blood, Honor, Faith’. They said that Da had put Ma before his blood, which he did. It’s not something he was ashamed of but they tattooed me to try and shame me for what he did.”

  Fuck.

  That’s more than I’ve ever told anyone. More details than I even told my cousins who saved me from that life.

  I take another swig from my beer, draining the bottle before I continue, “I found out later that my grandfather was the one who took Ma. My uncles all helped…torture her. They kept saying Da put his honor, his pride, before his blood. They’re fucking crazy. The tattoo was shit, looked awful because I was only nine when they did it, and I was screaming and trying to get them to stop. When I grew it got even worse, stretched and faded out. Two years ago, Ash and Blaise dragged me to a parlor and we had it redone. None of us have good families, blood doesn’t mean shit, but we chose the family we have now. So, when I got mine they both got our new creed tattooed too. Avery keeps saying she’s going to get it done as well but she’s an absolute fucking sissy about needles so I’m not holding my breath. I don’t need her to get it anyway, I know she’s one of us.”

  She gets this pissed off look on her face, like the idea of the O’Cronins just rubs her the wrong way which I more than understand.

  I take my turn, asking a question I shouldn’t be so fucking focused on but I am. “How did you go from being shot by Diarmuid to being friends? He hugged you like…like he had a right to. I’d swear that you’d slept with him if he hadn’t made that stupid comment about your tits.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, blushing a little more. “Our mutual acquaintance put him on the books. We met in friendlier circumstances and he kept asking how I'd gotten through his security. When I finally realized he was impressed not pissy, I told him and then he started acting like we were best friends. I haven’t slept with him, and I won’t ever in the future. Even if my tits do fill in.”

  Her tits are fucking great.

  You can hardly tell from the way she dresses but, thanks to all of Avery’s mothering and obsessing about making her bestie eat, the weight Lips had lost over summer break is back and she doesn’t look so… fragile anymore.

  And the ass on her would tempt a fucking monk.

  I scoff as I open another beer. “Your tits don’t need to fill in, they’re fine. Da used to go on and on about how good of a shot Diarmuid was. I wanted to learn from him. I wanted to be just like him.”

  She huffs a little and then fidgets again, picking at the hem of her sweater. “Who are you dating? She seems to be causing waves in your tight-knit family.”

  I will kill someone for the gossiping bullshit of this school if she’s hung up on this. “I’m not dating anyone. Who told you that?”

  She shrugs. “Blaise. Avery asked about his black eye and he said he’d been making a move on your girl. No, wait, he said you accused him of moving in on your girl.”

  Fuck.

  My head tips back as I exhale so fucking deep. Fuck my life, maybe the virgin thing makes a little more sense the more I think about it. She has no idea, no fucking clue about how badly I want her. I’ve been chasing her ass around this school all goddamn year and she has no fucking idea.

  I need a different response to my usual shit.

  “I gave him the black eye in the ring. He was mouthing off and I got pissy. We usually don’t aim for the head but I lost my cool and cracked him.”

  She fights a grin back at me and I think I’ve won. “Oh. So, no girl?”

  I give her a flirty look. “Not yet.”

  Clearly she sucks at this because her face drops as she says, “Let me know. I’m running background checks on everyone we get involved with from now on. I do not want another Annabelle or Rory getting close ever again.”

  Right.

  New tactic; I’m just going to start fucking saying shit and hoping she opens the hell up. I nod and take another long mouthful of beer for luck. She watches me and her thighs squeeze together subconsciously. Fuck me, I guess this shit is karma for all of the reckless shit I’ve pulled with the girls that came before her, because I’m going to have to work hard for her.

  That’s fine.

  I’m playing for keeps this time.

  “I'm fairly observant, I think sometimes you underestimate that,” I say, my tone warm and coaxing, as I pour her another shot.

  She clears her throat twice to answer me, “Oh yeah?”

  “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

  She panics.

  I’m fucking right, the freak-out that’s etched all over her tells me fucking everything. She’s hard to read but I’ve been watching her since she showed up here and I think I’ve finally got her figured out.

  I hold her gaze as I continue, “Yep. I'm observant enough to realize that Joey had to be your first kiss. You told me and Blaise at breakfast on the first day back after summer break, you said you held a knife to his dick. Now you’ve just told me I was your first real kiss and that the other one didn’t count. So, unless you’re out fucking guys like the chick in Pretty Woman then I’d guess you’ve never had sex before.“

  “How have you seen Pretty Woman?”

  I roll my eyes at her because of course that’s what she’s focusing
on. “When Aves sulks over guys she watches three movies; Pretty Woman, Dirty Dancing, and Ghost. I dunno, it has something to do with Aunt Alice. Stop avoiding the question. Answer it or take the shot.”

  She looks around the room and I start to fucking freak out with her because it looks like she might start screaming or crying or something.

  Fuck.

  What if— “If Joey touched you, I'm driving to his place tonight and I'm setting it on fire. I will burn that fuck alive.”

  She shivers at the viciousness of my tone, biting her lip a little. “No, it’s—he didn’t. He tried but I’ve found a sharp knife nestled against a guy’s dick is usually a good deterrent. I’m more worried about the bet. How much bigger do you think the payout will be if they find out I’m a virgin?”

  Fuck.

  Fuck, I didn’t even think of that shit. Fucking Joey.

  I groan and rub my eyes. “I forgot about that stupid fucking bet. So you spent your first year here being accosted by horny guys trying to talk you into a quick fuck for money and every single one of them assumed you were up for it because you’re a Mounty girl.”

  Fuck, we all thought that. How often has Ash called her a slut? Blaise was constantly on her about being a groupie, like she’d lie back and spread her legs for him given the chance.

  Maybe that’s the fucking threat she’s so scared of?

  We fall back into silence, only the sounds of us drinking to be heard. Her phone pings and she ignores it, a bad idea considering how freaked out Floss has been.

  “You should get that. Avery is freaked out that you haven't texted her back.”

  She panics again but this time it’s the type of panic I can laugh at, the type that’s all about just how much she loves my cousin.

  The moment the phone hits her ear she cringes and I burst into laughter, loving the savage looks she throws my way.

  I don’t even mind the interruption because now I finally have a plan.

  Kill anyone who put money in that fucking bet.

  Chapter Sixteen