Lachlan: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Dangerous Doms)

by Jane Henry

  And for once—for once in my entire existence—I feel as if I’m part of something that’s really, truly mine.

  “Don’t look now, Fiona,” Aisling says. “But there’s a man who’s been following you since you got here.”

  I roll my eyes. “Probably my fucking guard.”

  Her eyes widen. “Is it, then? Seriously? They came here with you?”

  “Aye.”

  She mulls this over for a moment. “Are they single?”

  “Good lord, Ais, will you stop it? Can’t you meet a nice American to hand over your V-card?”

  She playfully smacks my arm. “Why don’t you say that a little louder?”

  I laugh, my heart feeling lighter than it has in days.

  She shows me our room, and I drop my things off before she drags me to a little burger place off campus. I go to order a pint, and she rolls her eyes.

  “Not in Ireland anymore, lass,” she says with a giggle. “You’re not legal here, remember?”

  Bloody hell.

  I sip my soda instead when my phone buzzes with a text. I glance at the screen, expecting a text from Sheena or Nolan or Tiernan, when my heart suddenly skips a beat.

  Lachlan: Heard you made it to campus safely.

  I scowl at the screen.

  Aye.

  I shut my phone off and shove it in my pocket. And when Aisling flirts with a few guys sitting beside us in the restaurant, I grin at them and welcome them to sit with us. Before I know what’s happening, we’re heading to the waterfront, all four of us, drunk on the salt air and freedom. I suppose my guard follows at a respectable distance, and I don’t fucking care.

  We sit by the harbor, watching the boats come in and out. The sun sets low on the horizon, and I know back at home, it set hours ago. Sheena and Nolan will have the little ones tucked into bed as they curl up on the sofa and watch a show together. Peace and contentment will settle over the McCarthy family home, as the guard keep their watch, and everyone settles in for the night.

  Aisling gets up from the bench and wiggles her fingers at me, when one of the boys we’re with asks her to take a walk. I frown at her, but she’s already gone. She should know better than to take off with someone she just met. Bloody hell, I know better than that myself.

  And now she’s left me alone with a guy I don’t know, goes by the name of Matt. He’s good looking enough, I suppose, and seems friendly. He’s tall and on the thinner side, with messy, dark brown hair, and mischievous brown eyes. Tanned, and my age, but he still looks like a boy to me.

  “Smoke?” he says, when he lights up a joint. I frown and give him a sideways glance. He’s got a small crest of a tattoo on his inner wrist that intrigues me.

  “What’s that?” I ask him, pointing to the ink.

  He shrugs. “Stupid tat I got when I graduated high school. Doesn’t mean anything.”

  Graduated high school. God, he’s so young. I mean he’s my age, really, but I definitely don’t feel like we’re even in the same league.

  I reach for his joint. Just one puff. I never smoke, but I’m feeling overwhelmed and homesick. He grins when I take a puff, inhale, then exhaust the sweet, acrid smoke.

  “I don’t usually smoke,” I tell him.

  “You hardly did now,” he says, taking it back. “Shame.” We sit in silence for long moments. He tries to make small talk, but I give him one-word answers. My head’s a little lighter, but it wasn’t enough to really give me that escapism I crave. The magic of the freedom I felt just hours ago has vanished in the wake of exhaustion and the pang of homesickness.

  “I guess,” I say. “But I’m utterly shattered.”

  He grins. “Shattered. I like the way you talk.”

  I barely contain the desire to roll my eyes. I get to my feet and stretch, then look about me. I realize this isn’t like the clean lines and angles of Ballyhock, where all roads lead home, but much more complex. I have no idea where I am.

  I scowl at my phone and turn it on, but as soon as it boots up, I’m assaulted with a slew of texts.

  Aisling: I’ll be back later, going to hang out for a bit with Joe Shmoe.

  I roll my eyes. I cannot believe she’s ditched me on my first night here.

  Megan: Did you make it safely to Boston, you little globetrotter?? Check in with me!!

  But then my heart comes to a stuttering halt when I see Lachlan’s name again.

  Lachlan: Glad you made it there safely.

  Then half an hour later.

  Lachlan: Send me a text when you have a minute.

  A half hour after that.

  Lachlan: Bloody hell, check in with me. Why isn’t your location showing up on my phone?

  I scowl at the phone, tempted to turn around and whip it off the pier into the sea. Why the hell does he care? He’s an ocean away or maybe more, depending on the fucking “international mission” he’s on.

  I don’t respond to his texts. He has no claim over me. He isn’t my guard, and he isn’t my family.

  He’s nothing to me.

  He’s everything to me.

  “Let’s get some pizza?”

  I’m not that hungry, but I guess he’s got the munchies.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll go with you.”

  We amble our way over to a stand that sells pizza by the slice. I get us slices and drinks and pay. He doesn’t even try to stop me, just takes the slice I give him without even thanking me. Loser.

  Lachlan wouldn’t let me pay. He’d scoff at the very idea. I can see him raising an eyebrow at me as if I dared to even think of such a thing, the old-fashioned bastard.

  Stop thinking about him.

  “Let’s go down by the pier,” he says, frowning as his eyes dart about. “I want to finish this fucking joint. Paid good money for it.”

  I’m going to literally strangle Aisling for ditching me and leaving me with this guy.

  I shrug. “Right, then.”

  He chuckles. “Bloody cute,” he says with a snort, making the slang sound clumsy and awkward.

  I realize the pier isn’t solitary at all, like I suspected, but filled with more college students. Hell, I think there’s a bloody party of sorts. Drinks are flowing, joints are being passed around, and a throng of students dances by the beach.

  “So, tell me, Fiona,” Matt says. He shoves food in his mouth, not bothering to swallow before speaking. “What part of Ireland are you from?”

  “Ballyhock.”

  “Ah. Is it near the sea?”

  I take a bite of my pizza, chew and swallow, and nod. “Aye, on the east coast, south of Dublin.”

  “And why are you all the way here?”

  Why am I here? And why all the questions?

  I shrug. “Change of pace is all.”

  He nods, chewing his pizza methodically before asking another question. “Were you born in Ballyhock?”

  I shake my head. “No. I grew up outside of Ballyhock.”

  It feels bittersweet talking about home. It’s exciting being here, but I don’t know if I could really do it. If I could really, truly pull up the roots that ground me to the earth in Ballyhock.

  With food in my belly and the party at my back, I’m feeling a bit lighter than I have in days. I finish my pizza and he asks me more questions. How big is Ballyhock? Is it farmland or a city? I answer everything he asks me, pleased to talk of home, but when he finishes his joint, his eyes are a bit glassy.

  “What makes it different there?” he says, his words slurred. “Is the ocean different?”

  I smile out at the sea. “Suppose it’s the same ocean, isn’t it?” I tell him. “All flows together and all. Father Finn says we’re all one.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Parish priest, friend of the family.” I don’t know why I’m talking so much, like I can’t stop myself. As if talking of home keeps me connected.

  “Ah.”

  I tell him how close everything is in Ballyhock, how I can walk from the McCarthy home to the se
a, or take the winding pathway to Holy Family church. I tell him about the shops and the restaurants, and as I do, I long to be home again.

  “Sounds nice,” he says. “Do you want me to walk you back now?”

  I look over my shoulder and look for my guard. They’re good at staying discreet, I’ll give them that.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “You sure?” he asks.

  “Aye,” I say without thinking, and when he laughs out loud, I clench my fist to prevent myself from decking him.

  “See you later.” I leave without giving him a backward glance.

  I’m feeling sentimental tonight. Maybe I’m hormonal. But just being around a guy who doesn’t interest me makes me long for the one who owns my heart, even if I hate him.

  I glance at my phone and realize I haven’t replied to the text he sent me hours ago.

  I’m here, I begin to type, then I erase it. My fingers hover over the screen.

  I miss you.

  Before I can change my mind, I send the text.

  The second I do, I second guess myself. My heart hammers, and my mouth’s all dry. I look, realizing I don’t know where the bloody hell I am.

  I look to my left and right and realize I still don’t see my guard.

  My heart begins to pound even harder. They should be where I can see them.

  Am I alone?

  For a place that moments ago looked teeming with people, it feels oddly vacant now.

  My phone buzzes, as someone ambles toward me. I look at the screen to see Lachlan’s name. My hands shake.

  I miss you, too, sweet girl.

  I close my eyes at the rush of emotion. No, Lachlan, no, don’t do this to me.

  I can’t take it anymore. I pick up the phone and touch his name on the screen. I hit the phone icon, and it rings. He picks up on the first ring.

  “Fiona?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but I’m too overcome with emotion. I swallow, then swallow again, and nod.

  “Fiona?” he repeats.

  “Aye,” I whisper. “I’m here.”

  “Y’alright, lass?” His tone is warm and kind, and I love him so.

  “Aye,” I say, and I hate that when I blink, tears splash my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Lachlan.”

  “Sweet girl,” he says. “I’m sorry, too.”

  I lean against the brick wall of the building I’m standing next to, when I realize it isn’t just Ballyhock I miss, it isn’t just my home, but it feels wrong to be so far away from Lachlan.

  “Where are you?” he asks, and I can tell he’s barely containing his concern for me.

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” I tell him. I lower my voice so no one overhears. “And I can’t bloody see my guard.”

  “Are you fucking joking?”

  I shake my head, but of course he doesn’t see me. “No,” I whisper. “I’m not.” I yawn widely. “And I’m so tired.”

  “Where are you right this very minute?”

  “Downtown Boston, not far from the campus.”

  “Where’s Aisling?”

  “Went off with a guy.”

  He curses.

  “And Tiernan?”

  “Had a job to do. Left me with my guard, I suppose.” They’re doing a good enough job staying in the background. I’ve not seen them, though I feel keen eyes watching me.

  “Alright, lass,” he says, sliding into that role of protector, and it feels good again, like slipping on a pair of comfortable, familiar shoes. “Pull up your GPS and let’s get you back to the campus.”

  “You’re up very late,” I tell him.

  He sighs. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admits. “I miss you.”

  I swallow and sniff. “It’s easier to admit the truth when we’ve an ocean between us, isn’t it?”

  His low, manly chuckle makes me shiver in a good way. “Aye, Fiona. It is. We should always hop on a plane and go to another continent when we argue, shouldn’t we?”

  I grin. I hear voices behind me and look over my shoulder.

  “What’s that?” he says.

  “Don’t know,” I whisper.

  He curses under his breath. It’s killing him to be this far away from me, I know it.

  “Fiona, I want you to follow the GPS back to your campus,” he says. “I’m calling your guard and Tiernan. Alright?”

  I nod. “Aye.”

  I wish he was here. I wish I wasn’t alone. But I survived Stone City and can handle myself just fucking fine. I’ve got this.

  I lift my shoulders and plug the address into GPS.

  “I’m not far,” I tell him. “Only a few blocks away. I’ll get myself straight there.”

  “Good girl,” he says warmly. “Good girl.”

  I bask in the warmth of his praise before he hangs up. I pull the GPS up on my phone and walk so quickly I’m practically running. I can’t shake the feeling I’m not alone, and it’s unsettling.

  Ten minutes, my phone says. I step up my pace.

  Chapter 6

  Lachlan

  I never should’ve bloody let her go. The entire fucking McCarthy family’s dead asleep, but I’ve been trying to track her since I got here. I’ve got her guard on speed dial.

  I call the first one.

  No answer.

  I call the second.

  No fucking answer.

  Cursing, I call Tiernan, who answers on the second ring.

  “Lachlan?”

  “Aye.” I fill him in.

  “Bloody hell,” he says. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “Find her,” I grind out, clenching the phone so tightly I’m afraid I may break it. “Fucking find her.”

  I make some calls and call her back. I don’t want her going back to campus, not tonight, without a guard. If someone’s following her, that’s exactly where they’ll go.

  She answers on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Listen, Fiona, you’re going into a hotel tonight, lass. Just for the night, alright?”

  There’s a pause, then she whispers. “Alright.”

  “Do exactly what I say.” I tell her where to go. When she arrives, she’ll be escorted straight to her room, and Tiernan won’t be far behind.

  I’m catching the first goddamn plane to Boston, tracking down her motherfucking guard, and beating them fucking senseless before I. Kill. Them.

  It’s five o’clock in the morning, but Keenan’s an early riser. I got back last night from my trip to Madrid, and couldn’t sleep knowing Fiona was off to Boston. I leave my flat and head downstairs to the workout room where I know Keenan will be, but I’m checking my phone the entire time.

  Nothing from Fiona.

  Nothing from Tiernan.

  Nothing from her guard.

  I shove open the door to the workout room to see Keenan on a bench, pressing heavy weights. He nearly drops it when I barge in.

  “Lach,” he says, letting the bar fall on the floor. “Y’alright?”

  Keenan’s been like an older brother to me, the paternal leader of our Clan, since I met him when I was just a teen. He took me under his wing, taught me to curb my temper, and demonstrated what true leadership was. When he looks at me with concern, I know he’ll hear me out. I know he’ll support me.

  “No, it’s not alright.” I tell him everything. He curses and pulls out his cell phone, when my own beeps with a text.

  Fiona.

  I’m in my room.

  I tap her name on the screen and call her. Keenan watches me. She picks up immediately.

  “I’m here,” she says, panting. I close my eyes and let out a breath.

  “Good girl. Any word from your guard?”

  “No.”

  I. Will. Kill. Them.

  My body’s taut, my temper barely curbed, as I run her through a basic check to make sure her closets are empty, her bathroom’s vacant, and every lock’s in place.

  “Tiernan’s on his way, lass,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry.”

&nb
sp; “Sorry?” she asks softly. “Why are you sorry?”

  For fucking everything.

  “Just a minute. I’m with Keenan. We’re checking on your guard now.”

  She sighs. “All good here.”

  “Good,” I tell her, walking to a corner of the workout room. I lower my voice. “Now, lass. Get some sleep, aye? And we’ll talk again in the morning.”

  I love you, I think. I close my eyes. I love you.

  “Aye,” she says. “I will. And Lachlan? Thank you.” Her voice wavers a bit. “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time, I really am.”

  I turn my back to Keenan, who’s thankfully on the phone. “I know, sweet girl. Now get some rest, will you? We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “I will,” she whispers. “Goodnight.”

  She hangs up the phone.

  My heart’s in Boston.

  Keenan’s scowling. “I can’t get ahold of them either.”

  I’m pacing a hole in the fucking rug walking back and forth, when a solution dawns on me. “Give me the private jet, Keenan.”

  He blinks in surprise. We have a private jet for travel, but I’ve never asked to use it. Doing so now emphasizes the urgency.

  “Please, Keenan,” I ask, less demanding this time, and my voice actually cracks. “Tiernan can stand in my stead until I get there, but you know he’s got to get back.” He’s doing covert operations for the Boston contingent of the Irish mob, and he’s about to close in on a deal that would solidify our affiliations with them for decades.

  He pushes himself off the bench. “Of course, Lach,” he says. “I’ll give the orders. Jesus, I want her safe as much as you do.”

  While I appreciate his support, it’s a lie. No one wants her safe as much as I do.

  “One request, Lach,” Keenan says. His eyes are sharp and piercing, a reminder we may be blood brothers and related, but he’s still my superior. I feel the weight of his expectations.

  I hold his gaze.

  “I’d be blind not to see what she means to you,” he says softly, but there’s an edge in his voice. “And you’d be blind not to see what hurting her would do to this family.”