He grinned against my cheek, his lips lingering where another tear ran from my eye again. He’d broken something in me that no one else ever had before. A tear duct.
“I meant it, my darlin’,” he said, “when I said that you were the most dangerous thing to me.”
“I know,” I barely got out, “that you love me, Cash Kelly. Just as much as I love you.”
“Grand,” he whispered in my ear. “Just fucking grand.”
I intertwined our fingers, holding on tight.
“Keely Kelly,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I need you more than a heart needs blood.” He wrapped his hand around my wrist, applying pressure to the pulse there. “The only addiction to ever have power over me. The only soul to ever conquer my chaotic soul with complete peace.”
We both stared at the steam on the windows, condensation making strange patterns as it ran down the panes, snippets of the storm coming through the cleared paths. I fell asleep wrapped in his arms without realizing it; the pounding of his heart against my back was a song, soothing the mayhem surrounding us.
28
Keely
I blinked at the bright light coming in through the windows. The sun had burnt through the night while we slept, and the room had turned stuffy and humid from the storm.
My skin was still against his skin.
His arm was around me, and his nose was close to my ear. He was snoring.
A slow, satisfying grin came to my face at the faint sound of it.
He barely slept, and when he did, it was light. The nights must’ve caught up to him, like my evenings without dinner had caught up with me. He needed sleep as much as I needed food. My stomach made an obnoxious noise at the thought. But I had other needs that felt more important.
He was hard, and after I pushed my ass into him, he pushed himself inside of me and groaned deep.
“I wasn’t hungry for food, Kelly,” I said, breathless. “I was starved for this.” The connection.
“When I close my eyes, I dream of this,” he said, sinking into me even deeper. “You fuck up my body and settle my mind.”
He worked my body hard—gasping for breath, slick with sweat, his handprints on my skin—before my body submitted to his and his to mine.
Afterward, I felt like I’d taken a free fall from heaven. I sank deeper into the mattress, the pillow, and my eyes closed.
His breath fanned over my ear when he laughed. “No time for sleep, my darlin’.”
“There’s always time for sleep, my thief of hours,” I said. Maybe I dozed off for a second, but when I came to, it was with a jolt. Someone had slammed a fist against the front door, and I heard it open with a creak.
Cash sat up, rubbing his face, and then went to the bedroom door. The golden light coming in through the window lit up his naked body, every spectacular angle of it. He looked around for a second, and after he didn’t find what he wanted, he left the room.
“What the fuck, Cashel,” I heard the voice say. It belonged to Cash, but it was coming out of another man’s mouth. His brother, Killian. “I don’t want to see your wanker before I’ve even had my porridge. Ach.”
“Best to knock and wait then,” Cash said, his voice low. He must’ve been picking up his clothes. A minute later, I heard the front door again, and then another minute or two, he came back into our room with our suitcases and all of my clothes from last night. “Get dressed.”
I nodded and moved with more energy in my blood. I took a quick shower and dressed in a black maxi dress that came close to sweeping the floor. A row of buttons ran down the front of the dress, which was open from my knees down. I completed the outfit with a tiger-print belt around my waist.
My hair was fluffed up, a wild storm of red, and I didn’t even bother trying to tame it, but I did do some light makeup to help my face. Then I stood back, looking myself over. I wasn’t sure why, but I wanted to make a good impression on his brother.
I went to touch the necklace, the heart pendant, and as usual, I felt hollow when I found it missing. When I’d taken it off and left it on his pillow, it almost felt like I’d stolen a piece of myself back from him. I hated it as much as if he’d taken a piece of himself from me.
Love should’ve been spelled I. N. S. A. N. I. T. Y.
I must’ve been quiet when I entered the kitchen, because his brother didn’t hear me. He sat in his wheelchair, at the kitchen door, watching something going on outside. An old song played quietly from a record player in the corner.
When I stood in front of the sink and looked out of the window, my view was the same as Killian’s. Cash was unloading the groceries from the car. It didn’t seem like Killian wanted him to know, because when Cash started to make his way back to the farmhouse, Killian rolled his wheelchair back, faster than he’d moved the night before.
“Have mercy!” he said when he noticed me. “For a tall girl, you walk with no noise.”
“What do you expect me to do?” I lifted a brow at him. “Stomp like a horse in a wooden house?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Tell me what you’re doing with my brother, woman.”
There it was—if the twin thing didn’t give it away, the demanding attitude came shining through as family resemblance.
“I’m his wife,” I said. “That’s what I’m doing.”
Cash shoved the door open, setting the bags on the counter. I turned away from his brother, going through them, starting to put the groceries away.
“I’m going to shower.” Cash patted me on the hip. Then he looked between his brother and me. “Don’t fall in love with him.” He nodded toward Killian. “If I steal hearts, he fucking breaks them.”
A moment passed and something moved between them—the twin thing—and then Cash shook his head and went to take a shower.
I knew how Cash liked his oatmeal and started to make it. “You like your oatmeal the same way as your brother?” I asked Killian.
“If it’s the same way he took it over ten years ago.” He shrugged. “The same.”
I told him how Cash took it and he nodded. He became quiet after, watching as I worked around the kitchen. The cabinets were empty, but someone had filled the fridge with butter and milk. They looked farm fresh, probably from one of the places around here.
“You’re either the most powerful being in the world or the dumbest, woman.”
I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. “I have a name. Keely.”
“Keely Kelly.”
“It’s a nice start to a riddle, I think,” I said.
“Let’s starts the riddle with a question. Most powerful woman in the world or the dumbest?”
“The first,” I said, turning to stir the oatmeal.
“You know what he does.”
I nodded.
“You know he’s more animal than man.”
I nodded.
“I’m having a hard time believing the first, then, if you know him.”
“I don’t see him. I feel him—more than you do.” I stopped myself before I wiped my hands on my dress. I looked around the kitchen and found an apron and set it over my clothes. As I made my way back to the stove, I said, “My Mam taught me to stand by my man. Unless he hits me. Then she told me to kill him in his sleep.”
It took a second, but a slow smile stretched across Killian’s face. It rivaled sunrises in Ireland after dreary days.
“You are crazy, Keely Kelly. Maybe crazy enough to match his level of chaos.” He moved his wheelchair closer to me. “There's one thing I can't take away from the marauding bastard. He's got a head harder than stone. Once his mind is set, he'll either seize what he wants or wait until the end of time for it. He'll be faithful to you, if it's you he truly wants. Not even the threat of death will change his mind.”
My eyes met his and held. We were trying to read the other’s intentions toward the man we both loved. Even though Killian was fighting it, I could tell he loved Cash. Whatever had happened bet
ween them, both of them ended up wounded from it in different ways. Some scars come from internal battles, not always physical ones.
Cash cleared his throat, and it took a second, but Killian and I moved in opposite directions. Killian wheeled himself to the table. I started removing bowls and putting oatmeal in them. Then I made us each a mug of tea. When I turned around with two cups in hand, Cash was backing his brother away from the spot at the head of the table, moving him to the right.
Killian held on to the wood for a second before he decided not to fight. “You’re lucky I don’t have a gun on me,” he said, glaring at Cash. “Or I’d shoot you.”
“My spot,” Cash said, taking the head of the table, tapping the spot where he’d eaten me last night.
If I were easily embarrassed, my neck would’ve turned red, but that only seemed to happen when Cash Kelly looked at me with those fierce green eyes.
After setting down the cups, I made myself a bowl of cereal and set it on the table next to my tea, to the left of Kelly. He’d always move my plate at dinner when I’d try to sit too far from him. So I made things easier on the both of us this time.
We ate in silence for a few until Killian sat his spoon down and cleared his throat. “That’s disgusting,” he said, nodding toward my bowl and my tea.
“What?” I said, about to take bite. “They’re both made with milk.”
Cash dropped his napkin, sat back, and gave his brother a pointed look. “You know I’m not much for fucking around.” He cleared his throat. “Why are you here so early?”
“About that. Why are you sleeping so late?”
“Answer my fucking question, Kill.”
Killian turned and removed a long envelope from the pocket of his wheelchair. He slid it toward Cash. “It’s a good thing you’re sittin’,” he said, “or I’d tell you to take a seat.”
Before Cash could open the envelope, a knock came at the door. It was much lighter than Killian’s. Almost a tap. Loud enough in my ears, though, that it almost rang.
Cash and Killian stared at each other.
“I’ll get it,” I said, standing.
It was hard to tell if the woman on the opposite side of the door hated to be where she was or couldn’t believe that she was standing there. Her black hair streaked with silver was pulled back, emphasizing harsh lines on her face and eyes rimmed red from crying.
“Hello,” she said, her voice quiet. “I’ve come—”
“Come in,” Killian said from behind me.
I nodded, opening the door wider. After she entered, I offered her my hand. “Keely,” I said.
Her grip was firm. “Keely Kelly,” she said. “I’m Saoirse Kelly.” Her name came out as ser-sha. Her eyes were no longer on me, though. They were feasting on the man sitting at the table, his face turned forward, refusing to give her the power of his eyes.
At her voice, though, I sensed something in Cash. The giant stone he’d told me about the night before? He’d taken a similar one to the gut.
His mother was, in fact, not dead as he’d been led to believe.
“Take a seat, Ma,” Killian said, nodding to the spot where I’d been sitting.
Saoirse nodded, but she didn’t take my seat. She took the one at the other end of the table so Cash was forced to look at her. The same stone seemed to go through him and hit me, directly in the gut, when their eyes met. It was the subtlest fucking thing I’d ever seen, but as they looked at each other for the first time in years, Saoirse’s fingers closed over the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white.
“Son,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
He didn’t answer her, and the tension in the room grew thick. I cleared my throat and asked her if she would like a cup of tea. She nodded, but she still didn’t look away from him. I quickly made her cup, set it down, and then put my hand on Cash’s shoulder before I told him I was going for a walk.
“Sit down,” he said to me. “Right here.” He tapped the spot next to him.
His voice was cold and hard, and even though my first reaction was to resist his tone, I gave in to the plea hidden behind the demand. After I took my seat, I slipped my hand under the table, resting it on his leg.
“Is this where your father hid you both?” Saoirse said, looking around at the house and then at her sons in equal turns. She only got an answer from Killian, though.
“We lived here with Gran and Granda after we were told that you were dead. He took us to New York, after, like I’ve told you.”
“So you have,” she said.
The three of us turned to Cash as the envelope crinkled when he opened it, but the sound was like a bomb going off. He pulled out numerous pictures of his father, Ronan Kelly, and numerous newspaper clippings and reports. He spread them out so he could look them over. His eyes scanned the words that described whatever his father had been doing at the time.
Some of the words stood out like deadly debris flying through the air. Nationalist. Wanted man. Dangerous. On the run. Radical.
“We were young.” Saoirse picked up her tea, slowly putting it to her mouth, because her hands trembled. The porcelain clattered against the saucer when she set it down. “Some say stupid. But we believed in a cause that, at the time, felt worthwhile.”
Cash’s eyes lifted from the paper he’d been reading to look at her, but they quickly went back to the words in front of him after they did.
“Ronan was an exceptionally smart lad, and when he was passionate about something, he committed himself wholly to the cause. The man who originally brought him in became a hero to him. Patrick was all he could see.”
Cash’s eyes flew up at the name. They must’ve crashed into Saoirse’s because she closed her eyes, nodded, and one tear fell, then another.
Patrick. Patrick. Patrick…who…?
“Patrick and Ronan were as close as twins. We formed a group, and for a time, the cause seemed worth it. Then I got pregnant. You both came along, and it wasn’t as easy as it was before. We would have to run on a moment’s notice. Maybe with one babe, it would’ve been easier, but with two…it became tiring.
“I started not being able to sleep. I was running behind the both of you, and headaches would plague me day and night. I told Ronan that I couldn’t keep up, that I couldn’t do it any longer. Ireland was doing just fine as it was, but I was on the brink of losing my mind. Our family was in trouble.
“My priorities shifted once you two were born, but Ronan was as focused as ever. Patrick—” she opened and closed her hands around the teacup “—started to see the burden. He fell for you boys and had taken a vow when you were born to watch over you both. He considered you blood, as close as two nephews. He tried talking to Ronan, but there was no changing his direction.”
At this, she looked up and met Cash’s eyes. “Ronan started to rebel against us because he didn’t want to hear the truth. He stopped coming home for long stretches, and then he’d make frequent trips to America. The headaches only grew worse, and after going to the doctor, he found that I have an eye disease. Glaucoma. The only thing that helped ease it was cannabis. Patrick had read something and started bringing it to me. We started to grow closer.”
She broke eye contact to look into her tea again, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she saw. Maybe she could read them like my mam.
She took a deep breath and then lifted her eyes and her chin. “Patrick and I fell in love. Your father walked in on us one day after we hadn’t seen him in a month. I suspected, you know, that he had a mistress in America, but the love between us couldn’t be saved at that point. I justified my sins as right because he was committing the same.
“Ronan and Patrick got into an awful fight.” She put a hand to her temple and massaged. “I couldn’t stop it, and for the sake of you boys, Patrick left. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him again. But after the fight…” She sighed. “The stress. The headache. I thought I was dying. I swore—I swore then and there, I would never touch another drug aga
in. It had gone further than the cannabis. I had become addicted to other drugs. Harder drugs. I’m sure you remember me that way.” A lone tear fell from her eye then, but she swiped it away before it could run down her cheek.
“Ronan took me to the hospital, accusing me of having an overdose while he drove me. He dropped me off, and that…that was the last time I laid eyes on you, until today.” She dug around in the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a photo. She passed it to Killian, who passed it to Cash, who stared at it.
It was a picture of five people—Ronan, Saoirse, Cash, Killian, and the man by the name of Patrick—sitting at a dinner table. The man. Patrick. Father Patrick Flanagan.
“That picture was all that was left when I returned home.” Saoirse pulled out a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. “My parents died when I was young. I had no siblings. I had no one to help me find you. I tried. I looked every place I could remember. So many places like this one.” She looked around, and then her eyes met Cash’s. “He left me that picture out of spite.” Her tone turned bitter. “His only rule. We always ate dinner as a family, even before you boys came along.”
My grip on Cash’s leg grew tighter, and the muscle under my hand was taut, so tight that I thought it would pop like a vein in the head.
Tears slipped down her cheeks in a controlled flow. “He left me with that memory because he knew it would hurt me the most. He stopped eating dinner with me first.” Her hand balled into a fist and she lifted it, like she was going to slam it against the table, but instead it made no noise when it made contact with the wood. “I lost my boys, my husband, and my lover. He never came back for me, either, did Patrick Flann.”
“He thought you were dead,” Killian said. “Then he was forced into joining the priesthood to atone for his sins. To be able to have the right to see us. Everyone was punished. You. Patrick. Me.” Killian stabbed a finger at his chest and then looked at his brother. “Even you.”
“But you couldn’t remember. You couldn’t seem to remember anything that we lost. All you saw was the great Ronan Kelly. You dedicated your life to him, to his cause, without question. You were his perfect specimen—an animal that would attack on command. You’re still fighting for a cause you can’t win. A cause that he gave you to take on because he knew you’d do it in her honor.” He nodded toward Saoirse. “You’d do it because you would remember the worst of her, because all you believed was the best in him.
Marauder (Gangsters of New York Book 2) Page 28
