Carson: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Dangerous Doms)

by Jane Henry

  She begins to write about more, about the Clan, about Clan expectations and norms. She writes about the Clan’s battles at Stone City. About Nolan and Sheena, and how she was interested in their story because Sheena was from Stone City as well.

  I read on until I see one entry that hits me with the force of a thunderclap.

  I read the line over and over, unsure of what I’m seeing.

  Carson told me tonight. That they had a battle at the O’Gregors, in Stone City. And how the O’Gregors told them the McCarthy Clan has a spy in their midst.

  I close my eyes. A spy? Dear God.

  A spy?

  The Clan is everything to me. My family, my friends. My whole world.

  This can’t be.

  Were they lying?

  I put the diary away. I’ll read more later. It’s too much right now, trying to understand all this, to piece it altogether. I have to get out of my head.

  I’m on a dirt road that leads into the city. I used to come here with Eve. We would study together, then meet our friends for drinks at a little nearby pub, when I could get away from my overprotective cousins. On more than one occasion, Nolan lost his mind when he knew I was going here.

  But still, I came. I was raised in the Clan. Eve was in love with a Clan brother. No one understood what it was like, and I needed to commiserate with her. I needed someone who would understand.

  My phone buzzes with a text, but I don’t look because I’m driving.

  It buzzes again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Concerned, I pull over. I’m on the side of the road, right by a nearby creek. It’s midday, but the sky begins to darken, thick clouds obscuring the sun. I look up at the sky and realize it’s going to rain.

  I lift my phone to read the texts.

  One from Fiona.

  Lachlan noticed you left, he told Keenan.

  Great. Well, what are they going to do, ground me? I’m a grown woman already.

  But there are three more. I go to my home screen.

  Sir.

  I can’t believe I’m playing this game.

  You wearing any knickers at work?

  Aye, I tell him teasingly. It’s against hospital policy if I don’t.

  Really?

  I giggle.

  No.

  Sir: Looking for another punishment already, are you? But I can almost hear the teasing tone of his voice.

  Meet me for dinner tonight?

  I nod, then realize he can’t see my nod and shake my head at myself.

  When I’m out of work, yes. What time?

  Sir: what time are you out?

  I cringe. I hate lying to him. I go to type a response, to make up some kind of fabricated answer.

  7:00.

  I shove my phone into my bag beside the journal and open the car door. I want to go for a little walk. I want to remember our little haunts. The pub with the salty pretzels, the cobblestone streets. Rundown, but quaint, and reminiscent of so many happy evenings here.

  Thunder rolls overhead and I look up, as if I’m just noticing now it’s going to rain.

  I should maybe go back to the car.

  Maybe it’s because I want to feel the rain.

  Maybe it’s because I want so badly to remember.

  Maybe it’s because I don’t want to do what I should.

  But I don’t go back. I plow on knowing full well, the heavens are going to open at any minute, and when I return home, I’m going to have to explain not only why I’m not at work, but why I didn’t take the guard with me, and why I’m absolutely drenched to the bone.

  A brisk wind kicks up as I turn the corner and nearly slam straight into a man.

  “Oh! I’m sorry,” I say. But it doesn’t take long to realize this was the wrong man to slam into. He’s about my height but scrawnier. Looks like he hasn’t showered in days. The arsehole actually has the nerve to push me. “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” I say. I shove his hand off me and do a mental tally of what’s in my bag that I could use as a weapon. A pen to jab his eyes? The diary, that I could whack over his head? Lame.

  Maybe the guard wasn’t such a bad idea.

  The heavens open as he stumbles, fat, cold droplets falling hard and fast, blinding me. It doesn’t deter him, though. After stumbling from my shove, he launches himself at me. I barely have time to scream let alone stop him. I fall to the ground, my knees scraping on the wet, hard concrete.

  He’s cursing and growling like a rabid dog, lifts his hand back to strike me, and I lift my hands to deflect the blow. But it doesn’t come.

  There’s a howl of rage, and I look up to see a large, hooded figure pulling the man off of me. They kick, punch, and fight each other like angry dogs, snarling and vicious. I scramble backward out of the fray, when the hood falls off the man who came to rescue me. I recognize his glasses.

  Carson.

  I can’t think of why he came here, how he got here, what he’s going to do next. I don’t know how he’s here or how he found me, or more to the question, how he managed to find me at the precise time I needed him.

  All I can think about is whether or not he’ll be killed because of me.

  Cold torrents of rain fall hard as they fight. I’ve seen the men of the Clan fight, but in staged practice — not for real. I reckon I’ve been watching them since they were teens at St. Albert’s just learning how to fight. And every damn time, it’s a thing of beauty. The effortless way they duck blows. The seamless way they bob and weave. The powerful punches and kicks they throw, pure testosterone-infused energy. And Carson’s the most beautiful of all. He’s light on his feet but tenacious.

  I scream when my assailant reaches for a gun and cocks it. But this is not Carson’s first battle. With near effortless ease, he knocks the gun out of the man’s hand, draws a blade, and before I know what’s happening, he’s sliced the man’s throat.

  Cut. His. Throat.

  Blood pours onto the ground, so much my stomach churns with nausea, bile rising in my throat.

  I cover my mouth with my hands. This isn’t happening. He didn’t just do this. He didn’t just take the life of a man right here, on the streets of Stone City.

  “Get over here,” he growls at me. On trembling knees, I walk to him, glancing to the left and right to be sure no one else has possibly seen what happened. He’s kneeling beside the body, checking for a pulse. “You alright?”

  I nod. “I’m fine,” I lie. I’m not fine at all.

  “Out of the way,” he orders, gesturing for me to move. And when I don’t run to obey, still frozen in place, he glares. “Now!”

  I quickly jump out of his way.

  “Is he dead?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, God.”

  He rolls the body, then shoves it, blood mixed with rain dampening the earth. I watch as the body of my assailant soars downward into the creek below. Vomit rises in my throat. I turn, bend, and retch onto the ground.

  He’s holding my hair, at my side, oddly soothing at a time like this.

  “It was self-defense,” he says softly. “And I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  I’m standing, wiping my hand across my mouth. We’re both soaked through, drenched to the bone. He’s got one arm around my waist, and it’s odd, there’s no one here but the two of us, the blood of a dead man on our hands.

  I feel as if I’m going to be sick again. I make myself breathe in through my nose and out again, in and out in a rhythmic motion to clear my head.

  “Where are you parked?”

  I gesture wildly toward the place where I’m parked.

  “No guard?”

  Jesus fucking Christ. Is that all they care about?

  I shake my head once. No.

  He doesn’t say a word as he leads me away. Not to my car, but his. He opens the passenger door and shoves me in.

  “Buckle.”

  He’s on autopilot
, issuing commands, and I don’t think to question him. It isn’t the time.

  I do what he says.

  By the time he comes back to his seat, he’s on his phone.

  “Aye,” he says. “I’ll send you the exact GPS location. Take her car home, tell no one.”

  Finally, he hangs up the phone.

  “Who was that?”

  He’s soaking wet, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. His white t-shirt’s stuck to his chest, and his jeans are sodden as well.

  “Lachlan.”

  Great.

  “How did you know I was there?” As grateful as I am for him appearing so quickly, and when I needed him, I want to know how.

  “I was there on business,” he says. “Came out just in time.”

  But is it the truth? It seems a little too convenient.

  “ A better question, Megan, is why you were there? Thought you were at work today?”

  “I was going to…” my voice trails off. I don’t want to lie anymore. I don’t. “They called me and said they didn’t need me. I needed a little time alone, so I just went for a drive.”

  “Just went for a drive,” he repeats. “In Stone City?”

  I don’t respond. I don’t know what to say.

  “Alone?”

  Still, I don’t respond.

  He holds the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. “Looked like he was homeless. Possibly no blowback from the O’Gregors.”

  Rival mafia who own Stone City.

  I can still see the blood, the vacant eyes. I close my own eyes and nod. “I know.”

  “And you were here because…” he waits for me to fill in the blank. I don’t.

  He finishes for me. “You wanted to take a ride without your guard on you.”

  I don’t know how to respond. As much as I’m tired of them giving me such strict restrictions, it’s probably time for me to admit I do need the guard.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I really am.”

  He clenches his jaw and stares straight ahead. There are bright red specks of blood along his knuckles and on his arms. I shiver.

  “We both need a shower and clean clothes,” I whisper.

  “You need more than that,” he mutters.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  His voice hardens. “Really, Megan? You need your arse whipped for that,” he says tightly. “I’m half tempted to bring you back to my place so I can do it properly.”

  This isn’t the sexy type of punishment he promises. But I don’t fight him. I don’t argue or tell him off for being so bossy. I feel little and small, because he’s right. It was stupid of me to run off to Stone City without a guard. And I’m not an errant teen anymore. I’m a full-grown woman who ought to know better.

  “We have to hide this, Megan.”

  I groan. “Aye.”

  “If I tell Keenan, it implicates the Clan. If this was just something that happened between us, it doesn’t. Stone City’s fucking O’Gregor territory. They’re ruthless. Doesn’t matter if the man was homeless or one of their own. They find out we killed someone on their territory, there will be hell to pay.”

  I nod. “Aye.” He’s right.

  The words of the others come back to me, reminding me how ruthless the men of the Clan can be. How devastatingly violent they can be.

  It’s then that I remember.

  The diary.

  I bend to the floor so he doesn’t see, open it up, and peer in.

  I want to cry.

  It’s a sodden mess. And utterly ruined.

  Chapter 9

  Carson

  I’m so angry I can’t see straight. She was here, right here, so close she could’ve seen fucking everything.

  She likely doesn’t know that I’m a hacker. That with the fucking click of a button, I can see damn near anything.

  I knew her location from the minute I took an interest in her, and without even trying. Keenan demands we keep tabs on all members of the Clan at all times, demanding guards with all of the women when they leave the grounds. The other girls obey this, but Megan balks.

  We’ll have a talk about that.

  Lachlan said she’d left without a guard. Group text to Keenan, Cormac, and me. Said he’d warned her, and he wanted us all aware. One click of a button was all it took for me to see the whereabouts of her phone. Imagine my shock when I saw her heading straight for me.

  To Stone City.

  Why?

  She was mates with Eve, I know she was. They came here from time to time. But why today?

  And Jesus, why now? I’ve got the blood of a man on my hands. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. But I like to be fucking judicious about taking someone’s life.

  I contemplate telling Keenan. I hate hiding things from my Chief. And he’s the one that knows everything. All my secrets. The secrets no one else knows. But Christ, I don’t want to put the burden of this on the Clan, the family who raised me.

  Still, my loyalty to the Clan means I have to.

  I want to bring her back to my flat, strip those sodden clothes off of her, put her over my knee, and spank her to tears. Punish her soundly for putting herself in danger like that. And it won’t be the kind of spanking that ends with her climaxing.

  I grind my teeth and breathe through my nose to calm myself down. It’s rare I’m given to temper, but when someone I care about could be hurt, all bets are off.

  I have to bring her back home.

  Will they think something’s going on between us? My Clan brothers would kill me for touching her, I know they would.

  Jesus, there’s no good way to turn.

  “You alright?” I ask her. “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m cold,” she says. “And I just watched you kill a man.”

  I don’t respond, not at first. As much as the two of us can’t be together… as dangerous as this is… I can’t help but want to take care of her. Protect her. Make her mine.

  So I reach for her hand and entwine my fingers with hers. She sighs, and I give her a little squeeze.

  “You need a good, hot cup of tea laced with the good stuff,” I mutter. “We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

  She nods. “You sure we shouldn’t tell Keenan?”

  I shake my head. “No, the truth is, we’ll have to, but I’d rather do it privately than in front of the whole Clan.”

  Keenan will know why I was in Stone City to begin with. The others won’t.

  We pull up to the house and drive past the guard.

  I’ll be having a talk with them.

  I park the car and lead her into the house. Maeve meets us in the kitchen, her eyes widening only slightly when she sees the two of us soaked. She looks down at my hands. Jesus, they’re still dotted with blood.

  She’s used to this, though. She’s seen this before.

  “Lachlan rang me,” she says. “You two alright?”

  So much for keeping things quiet. There are no secrets in the brotherhood.

  “Aye,” I say. “Could use some Irish tea, though.”

  “Aye,” she says with a sad smile. “Wee Breena’s napping, so I’ll bring it up soon.” She looks to Megan, reaches for her hand and gives her a little squeeze. “You’ll need some too, lass.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Casualty or retribution?” she asks so softly I can barely hear her.

  I sigh. “Casualty.”

  She sighs in turn. “Both of you head up to Megan’s, then,” Maeve says. “I’ll tell Keenan that’s where he’ll find you and have him bring up dry clothes for you, Carson.”

  Megan’s eyes widen ever so slightly before she looks away. It’s likely the first time she’s been caught in the crosshairs of our work, and I suppose she finds it surprising how matter-of-fact Maeve is. Maeve may be kind and gentle with those she loves, but she was raised in the mafia, and the woman’s made of steel.

  I’ve never been to Megan’s place, of course. The man
sion is large enough to house several families, and the inner members of the Clan have private residences right here.

  She walks up the stairs, and her legs are trembling. She looks a sight, and as we walk, various staff members look at us in surprise. But no one stops or hinders us.

  She’s still trembling a bit when we get to the landing.

  I pull a little closer so we aren’t overheard. “You alright, love?” I ask in her ear. I still want to paddle her arse for what she did, but I can’t help but want to be sure she’s protected and safe as well.

  “Aye,” she says, but her voice trembles. Not much I can do for her here, but soon we’re at her place. She opens the door, and we both enter. She walks into the room and shuts the door behind her.

  “Megan, you don’t lock it?”

  She turns back to the door, frowning. “Oh. Well, I think it might lock on its own?”

  “Lock on its own? Woman, didn’t your cousins teach you anything?”

  “Hey,” she protests.

  “I mean nothing against them,” I tell her. “But any single woman of the Clan should be locking her doors and taking every precaution. You ought to know this by now.” I shake my head and turn to her door, check the handle, then draw the bolt across the top.

  “Mother of God,” I mutter. She goes around without a guard. She’s got no training whatsoever.

  She shrugs, then heads toward her bathroom, stripping off her soaking wet clothes as she goes. She hurls them in the general direction of her hamper. They hit the side and fall to the floor. She’s at the bathroom door.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” I ask her, the tenderness I felt a moment ago vanishing.

  She eyes me warily and doesn’t speak, but I’m distracted now that she’s stripped with her damp, full breasts on display and her gorgeous curves.

  “Get what?”

  “You could’ve been killed today, and all that could’ve been avoided if you’d gone with the damn guard you’re expected to use.”