“Then my brother—” I nodded toward him, even though she couldn’t see “—told me that I didn’t have to talk. He said he could read the clouds in my eyes. They created all of the words I couldn’t say. Maybe one day, if you ever feel like hanging out, I can read the clouds in your eyes on a sunny day, too. Or my brother can. He’s the best at it.”
It was subtle, and so fucking grown up, but her little shoulders slumped. Like she released a pressure inside of her that had been holding her up. I swallowed down the ball of emotions that were stuck in my throat, because I realized something. Maybe she didn’t have clouds in her eyes, but I could understand her silence, no matter what had caused it.
Mam had once told me that money always goes to money, and kindred spirits always find kindred spirits. We were all lost, but other people experiencing the same struggles could find us. Or we could find them.
“Archer,” Kelly said, suddenly appearing beside me, holding out his hand. How long had he been standing there? Come to think of it, after Maureen and Connolly had arrived, I stopped watching him and started concentrating on them. His green eyes were unreadable, but he kept looking between the two of us.
I couldn’t answer him, so I took his hand and stood.
Maureen came back, setting a plate of cake next to the little girl. She didn’t even look at it. With a sigh similar to Connolly’s, Maureen took a seat, balancing her plate in her hand.
“Bye, Connolly,” I said. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”
I went to leave, but before I did, a tug on my dress stopped me.
I turned at the same moment Maureen’s plate fell out of her hands, and so did a piece of meat out of her mouth. Kelly looked between Connolly and me again, his forehead strained.
Connolly had my dress in her hand. Her eyes were hard on mine, like she wanted me to say something.
“Did I forget something?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Okay.” I studied her eyes. “The music we talked about?”
She shook her head. No.
I took a deep breath. “My sister?”
Connolly nodded.
“You want to know more about her?”
“Was,” she barely got out. Her voice was low and scratchy.
Oh. I’d said “her name was” when I was talking to her about Roisin. Past tense. Connolly had caught it, and she wanted to know what had happened to her, not more about her.
“She…” I hesitated, but I decided to be honest. “She died.”
Connolly said nothing, only turned away from me and took her spot, staring at the wall again.
The party was over, and my feet were hurting. I slid off my shoes as Kelly opened the door to his massive warehouse, inviting me in. It was spacious and had been redone to look like a home. It was all tan brick and dark brown woods. The floor felt cool against my blistered feet, and my pads relaxed into the sensation as we made our way deeper inside.
“Where are my things?” I asked.
He set his keys on the kitchen counter, and when I turned around, the windows behind him showed nothing beyond but a dark void.
“In your room,” he said.
“Is that your room?” We hadn’t discussed that part of the deal. Where I’d be sleeping. Or what happened from this point forward.
I wasn’t a virgin, so I wasn’t nervous about that, but I wanted to know what he expected of me. Was he going to give me a choice or not? The not made me anxious. He was game to steal my heart, but what else? Those fucking feathers started to float around in my stomach, making my heart beat faster. It was a strange sensation to crave him sexually while hating him on principal.
I suspected Cash Kelly knew that would be my personal fight long before I did.
“This way,” he said, and I turned, finding him standing at the bottom of the metal staircase that twisted and turned as it made its way up.
He’d lost his jacket after the police station, leaving it in Harrison’s car, and from the kitchen to the stairs he’d loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He was built like one of those Boston boxers, but with the deep scars of a gangster.
And his cologne, or whatever it was?
The entire warehouse, all however many thousands of square feet, seemed to hold his scent. I took a deep breath in but immediately let it out before I forced my feet to move. As soon as I did, he started up the stairs and I followed. The entire upper level seemed to have more windows than the lower. Actually, except for the brick that separated the rooms, it seemed to be all glass in the back.
He flung a hand in a few directions as we passed—bedroom, bathroom, blah, blah, blah—like he was checking stops off of his list. Then he said something that made me stop.
“Library.” He waved a hand at the door.
He kept going, but I stepped inside of the room, wanting to see what kind of library a marauder had. It was fucking fantastic. There were leather sofas placed strategically around the room, all in front of the stretching windowpanes, and the ceiling was made of varying shades of wood. The walls? They were bookshelves.
I ran my hand along one, feeling the spines of so many experiences against my palms.
“That one there,” Kelly said from behind me, “you might like.”
After removing my hand from the wall, I turned to face him.
He nodded toward an area that had been set up to resemble a coffee shop. It even had a laptop on it.
I moved toward it and picked up the book. Daphne du Maurier.
My father was a quiet man, but there were two things he taught me: how to read and how to shoot a bow and arrow. He’d said both would give me a power that no man could steal.
Reading was something I hadn’t done in a while, though, not since I moved out on my own and had responsibilities.
I ran my hand across the cover of the book, knowing Mari would love it here, too. Sometimes when I used to hang out with her in the city, when she was trying to lay low after she left her foster parents’ place, we would spend time at the library together.
“Why are you a marauder?” I said, testing him.
Even though I didn’t turn my eyes from the book, I could sense his grin. “Why do you shoot arrows?”
Ah, he wasn’t just a ruthless gangster with only vengeance on his mind.. He’d read the book.
“Because of the danger, because of the speed, because I might miss,” I said, changing the quote up a bit. “I didn’t take you for a reader.”
“You don’t take me for a lot of things. Only one.”
“It’s hard to know anything else when it’s all that surrounds you. Mayhem.”
A few minutes passed, and when I looked up, Kelly was beside me, a necklace dangling from his hand. “You say a heart can’t be stolen, darlin’, but I beg to differ.”
I went to take it from him, but he moved it back a bit, grinning. This time when the necklace came forward, I stopped it from swinging back and forth like a pendulum and studied it. The pendant at the end of the gold chain was heart-shaped—a literal heart, veins and arteries included—and it seemed to be a locket. It had a smallish keyhole at the bottom.
“What’s inside?” I asked, holding the pendant between my fingers, studying all of the grooves.
He was quiet for so long that I looked up again.
“You’ll see when you find your way in,” he said. “Just remember. Just because it looks a certain way doesn’t mean it is a certain way. There’s more than one way inside of a heart.”
I took the necklace from him and slipped it over my neck. It sat against my heart, and I wondered if it was going to steal the beats, since its master was a thief.
“If you think things—” I flashed the expensive engagement ring and then the pendant at him “—can buy me, you’re wrong, Kelly.”
“Rarely,” he said, sliding his thumb slowly from my cheek to my neck. “You burn for me when I touch you.” He whispered the words, but he’d meant for me to hear.
I hated that he was righ
t. I burned for him beyond relief. His touch had been a caress, barely there, but it had felt like hot wax dripping down my skin. There was no way to hide my attraction to him, not when heat crept up my neck and desire painted me red.
“I am attracted to you.” I had to take a deep, deep breath, because my skin was not the only traitor. I knew he could smell the desire on me. His nostrils kept flaring, like he was scenting the air around me, reading signals I hadn’t identified yet. “But that means nothing. If you think I’m going to fuck you because you forced me into this, think again. That’s my decision.”
“Let’s get a few things straight.” For the first time since I’d met him, his features hardened, and I could truly feel the killer in him. He slaughtered the la de da attitude to let the animal free of its cage. “You spend time with me while we’re both here. You don’t.” He shrugged. “Your choice. This place is big enough for the both of us. You sleep in my bed. You don’t.” He shrugged again. “Your choice. I like my space. You fuck me. You don’t. That’s your choice. That’s the one thing I’d never steal.”
He took a second, staring me down, before he spoke again. “I don't have a heart, which means no feelings, but I do have a brain. The same one I use to read all of these books. I know the difference between willing or not. ‘Not’ doesn’t get a real man hard, darlin’.” He released me from his stare, about to walk out, when he stopped and turned to me. “There is one choice you don’t have. You’ll eat dinner with me. Every night.”
“Eat dinner with you,” I repeated. More like blurted out.
“Every night.”
“Sometimes rehearsals run late.”
“I’ll wait.”
Then he left me alone in the library with a heart made of metal.
14
Keely
It took me a second to realize that I stood in the library alone, one hand clutching the dress, the other squeezing the metal heart.
What the fuck had gotten into him?
Eat dinner with me. Every night.
Of all the things…
Dinner.
It seemed so domesticated. Did he expect me to cook, too? I shook my head, trying to fling some of the chaotic thoughts out. It was a job trying to keep up with him, but one thing I knew for certain.
He claimed he had no heart. No feelings.
I was going to change that.
Not him, but the fact that he thought he was invincible. That he was immune to catching feelings.
He knew my attraction to him was an easy tool to steal my heart. That device worked both ways. His obvious attraction to me was a way for me to get inside of his head, and for once in his life, make him realize that he did have a heart. That he wasn’t untouchable.
The block party was proof that he wasn't as heartless as he claimed to be. After spending time with “his” community, I understood why Scott had threatened to destroy his soul. Hell’s Kitchen. It was the only thing Kelly claimed as his. Maybe even loved.
Why did it matter so much to him? What made it so special?
Finding my way out of the library and into the bedroom that had all of my things, I slipped out of my wedding dress and decided to take a shower.
My night with Cash Kelly wasn’t over yet, though.
After the water ran cold and the usual nightly rituals were done, I slipped on a silk emerald robe and went looking for him. I didn’t even bother to knock when I came to his bedroom door.
As expected, the room was huge, but with little furniture or even knickknacks. There was one photograph in an older-looking frame. I assumed the man in the picture was his father. I’d met his widow, Molly, at the block party.
“Empty,” I whispered, looking around once more. The biggest thing in Kelly’s room was his bed. It looked comfy, and wide enough for two. “Just like the heart he claims not to have.”
A distinctive scent lingered in the air, different from his, and I followed it to the glass doors that led out to the fire escape. It was more like a balcony overlooking New York. Kelly sat in a leather lounge chair, his back to me, his feet propped up against the railing. He was blowing smoke rings out of his mouth.
“Isn’t that how it starts?” I said, invading his personal space. When I stood next to him, he looked up at me, and I nodded toward the cigar in his hand stuffed with something other than tobacco.
“Are we speaking in rhymes now, darlin’?”
“Addictions,” I said. “That’s how addictions start.”
He looked away from me. “Nothing in this world has power over me. I’m addicted to nothing or no one.”
We’ll see about that, Kelly. Internally, the villainous bitch inside of me grinned.
Externally, he matched my grin, the villainous bastard inside of him seeming to read my mind.
Fucking perfect. Listen up, Marauder. I never pick truth, either. And I’m out to prove you wrong, for once in your life.
He leaned his head back and blew a smoke ring toward the sky. “It’s medicinal. It helps me relax.” He blew out a wider one. “I get headaches somethin’ terrible. It eases those, too.”
“Not even twenty-four hours married and you’re already needing something to help you relax from a headache. I would’ve said drinking—” I nodded toward the empty glass on the small table next to him, dregs of whiskey at the bottom “—but I know better. Men like you never drown in the bottle. Gills instead of lungs.”
He outright smiled, and something about the imperfection of it made him a hundred times more attractive. It sent my stomach down into my feet and then back up to slam into my heart. I moved past him, deciding not to take the seat next to him, and leaned against the railing, my hands over the side.
After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. “Overcompensation,” he said. “It’s a real thing.”
Every time he said thing, it came out as ting.
“Are we speaking in riddles now, darlin’?” I copied most of his words and his accent. I grew up in New York, but I also grew up in a house with an Irish father and a Scottish mother.
Even though I couldn’t see him, I felt him move forward, and that unique smell became even stronger after I heard the breath leave his mouth. “The loudest voices outside are the ones whispering the lowest behind closed doors. Meaning. Those with something to prove usually have the most to hide.”
“Rhymes and riddles,” I said. “The Irish is strong with this one.”
“‘Tough. Tough. Tough.’ That’s what you scream the loudest.”
I squeezed the railing, my knuckles straining against skin. “What am I whispering then?”
“You want me, but your pride is standing in the way.”
“It’s not my pride,” I said. “It’s my principles.” Then I turned to him and unfastened the ties of the robe, letting it fall to the ground. “But since this is my choice, I choose now to say fuck it all. I do want you. I want you to fuck me.” Then I gave him that look, a look that dared him to take all or nothing.
He stood from the leather lounger, in no hurry. But when he finally made it to me, the tension between his body and mine was as taut as a bow about to release an arrow. His body was close, only a small gap between us, but his heat felt like a raging fire against my skin.
He looked down at me at the same time he took a puff of his cigar. He held the breath in and then slowly leaned down, putting his mouth close to my nose. His breath came out in slow exhales, a little smoke coming out with each release, until he made it to my mouth. I closed my eyes but parted my lips, breathing in, inhaling him like the drug coming from his mouth, until he hit my lungs and rushed into my bloodstream.
I could already feel him inside of me, the high making me feel like I could fly.
Each time he shared his breath and I took his in, the sensation only grew stronger. My limbs weighed nothing, and my head swam in the clouds. I barely felt it when he turned from me, but when he came back with a mouth full of smoke and I sucked in deep, his tongue invaded my mouth. His hands fiste
d in my hair, rough compared to the slow and delicious rhythm our tongues were moving to.
Remembering that I had hands, I used them to rip his shirt open. My palms caressed his chest, over his broad shoulders, until I forced the shirt from his muscular arms. My hands were back on him, my nails digging into his skin, ready to draw blood. Though I felt as flighty as a bird, there was this crazy energy running inside of me, waiting for the right time to rule my hands and maul him.
The kiss broke but his mouth didn’t stop moving. My chin. My neck. My shoulders. Back and forth. Long, slow, warm kisses. My chest. When his mouth closed over my nipple, I sucked in a breath, my claws sinking into his back, but not enough to draw blood. Just enough to gain some balance. My legs were weak, like they didn’t belong to my body, but wrapped around his.
A low noise escaped my mouth, and it didn’t sound like me. I’d never made noises during sex. I was too aware of every wrong move by my partner, of all of the problems that existed in my world, of how I’d never be truly satisfied after.
The same noise came again when his mouth moved even lower, his tongue dragging along my stomach, until he was face to face with my hips, his big hands on each side, keeping me in place. His breath was warm as his mouth came even closer. I shivered, the heat of it clashing with the cold that tried to leave my body—not nerves, but anticipation.
As his mouth came between my legs, his tongue tasting me, I let him go and gripped the metal of the fire escape, afraid that I was going to become weightless and lose all balance. A free fall into heaven or hell. My eyes rolled back, and a long, low mewl left my mouth. I was sprawled open against the railing like some sacrificial virgin.
“Fuck. Yeah,” I breathed out. I’d never had a man taste me like this. Like he had all of the time in the world, but at the same time, he was too starved to savor.
The orgasm that ripped through me was as brutal as it was beautiful. I screamed out, the noise echoing around us, and for the first time in my life, I wondered if this was how the arrow felt when the bow sets it off. The pleasure overwhelming my body didn’t quit even after he did. It fucking lingered, and I wanted another hit. My cheeks felt even hotter, because that had happened way too fast.
Marauder (Gangsters of New York Book 2) Page 15
