by Katee Robert
But, for better or worse, Charlie was outside the hierarchy—and he’d put her there. If he’d wanted a meek little fake fiancée, then he should have called someone else. She wouldn’t know meek if it bit her in the ass, and having him try to order her around only made her dig in her heels.
Charlie shrugged. “I’m sleeping with him, and I have his ring on my finger. It gives me the ability to talk to him however I damn well please when we aren’t in front of an audience. And, no, before you ask, you don’t count as an audience. You’re family.”
“You know, Charlie, I think I like you, magic pussy and all.”
She snorted. “Give it a rest.”
“I will. Promise.” Keira looked around, her furious attitude melting away in favor of curiosity. “So, where are we going?”
“Keira, my dear, we’re going to teach you how to fight.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Giving Keira a crash course in Krav Maga ended up being exactly what they both needed. The girl knew the basics in self-defense, but watching the comprehension dawn on her face as she went after the punching bag was a revelation in and of itself. She craved control in a life where she had little—Charlie got that. She felt exactly the same way sometimes.
They grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed back to the O’Malley house, Keira peppering her with questions along the way. The woman was practically bouncing on her toes as they rounded the corner of their block. “What about takedowns, like those guys who were sparring?” Her excitement made her look younger than she was, her hazel eyes dancing with interest.
“You learn those once you hit a certain level. You have to master kicks and hits before you go on to the more complicated stuff—or start sparring.” She hesitated. “If you want to pursue this, I think the owner would love to see you back there again. A lot of women check it out and then move on to other stuff, but Krav Maga really is one of the best out there for the lives we live.” We. She missed a step.
Since when did she put herself in a category—any category—with someone who was a freaking O’Malley?
But it was hard not to see the similarities between her and Keira. They were both trapped by circumstances—though Charlie’s were circumstances of her own making. She could have left New York and gone anywhere. No, she couldn’t have been a cop again, but she could have had a normal life.
Instead, she’d chosen to stay and live with the knowledge that she’d never really be the daughter her father wanted, that she would never regain the reputation as a cop that she’d always craved, that she wasn’t guaranteed to see justice at all.
So, yeah, she and Keira weren’t as different as she’d originally thought.
Maybe that means Aiden and I aren’t, either …
“Pretty sure Aiden would have a stroke if I asked him to go that gym a couple times a week. Think of all the terrible things that could happen to me.”
“I’ll talk to him.” She wasn’t sure what kind of pull she had at this point, but Charlie was prepared to go toe to toe over this. Keira had lit up in that gym, and at this point in her life, she needed any life preserver that would keep her from drowning.
She laughed. “Good luck. I’d almost pay to have a ringside seat for that conversation, but there’s the chance it’d devolve into angry sex and the last thing I need is therapy for that, too.” She came to an abrupt halt. “Shit.”
Charlie turned to see what had leached the color from her face and stopped short. The man standing on the top step of the O’Malley home could have been a doppelgänger for Aiden, give or take a few decades. The only real difference aside from eye color was that he had more lines around his eyes and mouth and silver dusting his temples.
The eyes were different, too, she noticed as she and Keira came to a stop at the bottom of the steps. It was more than just the color—brown, compared to green. This man’s eyes were cold. Aiden’s expression could go icy, but it was a mask he wore. When he wasn’t paying attention, his eyes conveyed worlds of knowledge.
Charlie didn’t get the impression that this man bothered with a mask.
This would be one Seamus O’Malley.
If her dad could see her right now, he would be shitting bricks. Charlie straightened her spine and kept her shoulders back, doing her best to ignore the way the man looked at her—as if she was a cheap whore or shit on the bottom of his shoe. He took her in and dismissed her in the space of a heartbeat, turning his attention to his daughter. “Keira.”
“Father.” A tremor worked its way through the woman, so slight Charlie wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been so close. “What are you doing back?”
“I’ve come to fix the mess your brother created.”
Well, hell. That could mean a number of things, and none of them boded well for Aiden’s plans to bring Romanov down. Or for the woman next to her, currently shrinking back to the miserable mess she was before their outing. Keira wrapped her arms around herself. “That’s fucking wonderful.”
“Language.”
“Yes, language. God forbid someone talk about what a fucking mess our family is.” Just like that, she dropped her arms and lifted her chin, glaring at Seamus. “You should go back to Connecticut, Father. No one wants you here, and Aiden is doing a better job of running this family than you ever did.” She marched up the stairs and shouldered past him.
It was all well and good that she’d stood up for herself, but without his daughter in the picture, all his attention turned back to Charlie. She shuddered and tried to hide the reaction, but his smirk let her know he’d seen it. “This is what my son lost his damn mind for?” He shook his head. “Pathetic.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” She had no reason to defend herself to this man—nothing she could say would change the opinion he’d formed before he ever met her.
That didn’t stop her from wanting to punch him in his smirking face. That’s your anger talking. Calm down. She took a breath, and then another. This was Aiden’s father. That weird note she’d heard in his voice this morning made more sense now. Maybe she should have listened, but she was right that Keira needed to get out for a while. She was definitely going to talk to Aiden about getting her set up with regular Krav Maga classes. If the woman got out of the oppressive atmosphere of this house more often, she wouldn’t be shrinking into a mere fraction of the person she could be.
That she should be.
It was possible Aiden was dealing with some of the same shit. She’d never really considered it before. I need to consider it now. She strode up the stairs, putting a little swing in her walk—first, because she was furious, and second, because if Seamus O’Malley thought she was a gold-digging whore, at least she should play the part. There is no shame in the situation, no matter what he thinks.
She patted him on the shoulder as she walked past. “Don’t be jealous of your son. It’s not a becoming look for you.”
Charlie made it three steps into the house before his hand closed around her upper arm and spun her around. “Just because my son likes the way you fuck doesn’t mean you can talk to me however you please, little girl.” He shook her, the rage on his face something to behold.
She’d faced down men like him before, and she wasn’t about to let this piece of shit manhandle her, Aiden’s father or not.
Charlie brought her free hand up to use his pressure points to force him to let go of her, and then she shoved him back. “And just because I’m fucking your son, doesn’t mean you get to touch me like I’m one of your yes-men.”
He took a menacing step toward her, and she had half a second to wonder if she was going to have to go for her gun, when Aiden’s voice cut through the foyer. “What the fuck is going on?”
Seamus straightened and adjusted his jacket. In the space of a heartbeat, icy disdain replaced the rage that had shaken Charlie to her core. “A simple conversation.”
How quickly he recovered and smoothed out his expression was more terrifying than everything that had come be
fore. I was wrong about him not wearing masks. He’s even better at it than his son is.
Aiden stalked down the stairs, his gaze never wavering from her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She very pointedly didn’t look at Seamus as she said it. Knowing she could likely take him didn’t do a damn thing to comfort her, because any confrontation between them wasn’t just a one-on-one sort of thing. There were layers and implications, and even if she was willing to shoot someone in self-defense—or not self-defense—this was still Aiden’s dad.
Did I seriously just consider the consequences of shooting Seamus O’Malley?
She was in so far over her head, it wasn’t remotely funny, and it wasn’t even about the sex or her heart anymore. It was about her life.
Aiden stopped in front of her and searched her face. Then he touched her arm in the exact place that his father had grabbed her. Charlie flinched before she could catch herself, which caused his green eyes to harden. He spoke without looking away from her. “If you touch my fiancée again, I will kill you myself. Is that clear?”
“If you think—”
“This is not up for debate. You might have resumed control of the O’Malleys—for the moment—but that doesn’t give you the right to do what you just did. Apologize, Seamus.”
“You’re crossing the line, boy. Again.” Seamus strode away without another word, leaving them staring at each other.
Instantly, Aiden’s eyes thawed. There was still more than a little anger, but he let her see the worry, too. He spoke low enough that she had to strain to hear him. “Are you really okay?”
“Yes.”
He huffed out a breath. “No, you’re not. I don’t even know why I asked.”
“Aiden, I’m fine.” She reached out and touched his arm, which seemed the only sign he needed to pull her against him. It felt good to have him wrap her up like that. Better than good. Comforting.
But she couldn’t let his worry stand.
Charlie’s mouth against his shirt muffled her words. “He startled me. That’s all.” She didn’t mention that she’d had half a thought to go for her gun. She hadn’t, and that was that. No reason to even bring it up.
The thought still settled in her stomach like a stone, threatening to drag her down. Up until this point, she’d been in the right. The one with the justifiable fury. The innocent who’d been victimized by Dmitri Romanov.
The moment she’d considered shooting Seamus O’Malley in his own home was the moment she’d slipped over a line she wasn’t sure she could uncross.
The line that separated the good guys from the bad.
* * *
Dmitri hung up the phone and considered the new information at his disposal. Of all the scenarios he’d played out upon forcing Aiden O’Malley’s hand, Seamus O’Malley coming back to Boston and reaching out personally to assure him that his intention to marry Keira O’Malley would be honored … it had ranked toward the bottom. It hadn’t even taken the man a full day to make his play—he’d arrived earlier this morning and it was barely eight p.m.
The move reeked of weakness and desperation, which irked him. The O’Malleys had proven to be worthy enemies over the last three years, and he had a certain respect for them as a result. Aiden hadn’t agreed to a single thing until Dmitri had given as good as he got in their deal, and now his father was practically pissing himself as he offered Dmitri his throat.
Something broke in the old man, something he can’t get back.
It was useful information, but he wasn’t prepared to do anything about it currently. Whatever Seamus O’Malley thought, Dmitri and Aiden had a temporary alliance. The O’Malleys would help him with his Eldridge problem, but the true reasoning behind his request for assistance had nothing to do with an enemy.
He wanted Keira.
More, he’d already decided that he’d have her. There was no other option, no other acceptable outcome. He’d put his ring on her finger, and she would be exchanging vows with him at the earliest manageable date.
There wasn’t a damn thing Seamus or Aiden or the rest of the O’Malleys could do to stop it.
He took out a second phone, one he’d secured for a single purpose, and dialed. It rang several times, before a breathless Keira answered. “You know, it’s funny, but I distinctly remember only owning one phone. And yet I hear a ringing and there’s this little sucker in my underwear drawer. Creepy, Dmitri. Really creepy.”
Underwear drawer? He drummed his fingers on the desk. He was going to have to have a … talk … with Vance about the appropriate places for him to go digging through—namely, not Dmitri’s intended’s panty drawer. “Apologies on the placement.”
“But not on the fact that you had one of your goons sneak into my room.” She tsked. “Typical.”
It struck him that he’d never heard Keira quite so lively. Every time they’d encountered each other, she’d been under heavy doses of drugs or alcohol. She sounded downright sober. “How did you like Krav Maga?”
“Stalker much?” Keira sighed, but the sound was almost happy. “I’m only telling you this so you know I can beat your ass if you think about trying some messed-up shit with me, but it was amazing. Hitting made me feel …”
“Powerful. In control.” He understood, even if he didn’t have a love affair with violence the way some men did. Violence, in its many forms, was a tool. A weapon was a weapon, no matter the flavor, and all weapons were to be utilized.
“Yes.”
And if there was one thing his Keira craved, it was power and control. He’d gotten that right, even if she didn’t want to admit it before now. “I suppose now I know where to take you for special occasions.”
“Careful there, Dmitri. You’re starting to sound more man than monster. I might get the wrong idea.”
“Make no mistake. I’m the monster. Forgetting that would be detrimental.”
“Because you’ll beat me?”
He went still, icy rage freezing out the amusement their conversation had spawned. “Does your father beat you?” Aiden didn’t. He would have known if her brother—any of her brothers—hurt her.
But Seamus O’Malley had disappeared into the country before Dmitri set his sights on Keira. If he had mistreated her, it wouldn’t necessarily have come to light. There’d been no hospital records, but that didn’t mean a damn thing when someone was wealthy enough to have a personal doctor on call.
“And if he did?” The happiness was gone from her voice, too, leaving the apathy he recognized. “What would you do? Would you ride in on a white stallion and cut him down?” She laughed. “Please. You’re all monsters. Hell, I’m a monster, too. You don’t get to play the savior when you’re no better than he is.”
She hadn’t admitted one way or another, but Dmitri sure as fuck was going to find out if Seamus O’Malley had hurt his youngest daughter.
For now, he focused on the woman on the other end of the line. “You don’t need a savior, Keira. You’re more than capable of saving yourself.”
Again, that broken laugh. “And you’re just telling me what you think I want to hear. Admirable effort, though you missed it by a mile. You’re supposed to say that of course you’ll save me from my wretched life, and that you definitely aren’t the man my family makes you out to be, and naturally I’ll be the coddled and protected wife who you’ll fall madly in love with.”
He stared at the painting on the wall across from his desk. It was a winter landscape, calm even as it was brutal. In that world, like in his, only the strong survived.
Only the monsters.
The picture she painted was even further from reality than the one on his wall. There were no white knights or saviors in their world, and he was just as bad as the members of her family. Worse, in many ways.
Love? There was no room in his life for love. Love was for the weak, the idealists, the people who became casualties because they opened themselves up for a shot to the heart.
Keira sighed. “That
’s what I thought. We both know what this is—and what it isn’t. So do me a favor and don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot.”
Somewhere along the way, he’d lost control of this conversation, and he hadn’t even been aware of it until now. Dmitri resumed drumming his fingers on the desk. “Do you like your ring, Keira?”
A hesitation. “You know that I do.”
“I can shower you in gifts that make that look like an embarrassing trinket. You might not have your freedom, but you’ll want for nothing as my wife.” He should just leave it there. If she had foolish romantic notions, that wasn’t his burden to bear. He’d never offered her love, never offered her anything but exactly what he intended.
But it felt too much like a lie to let things stand. “I can offer you anything money can buy. I can’t—won’t—offer you love. Sex, yes, as much as you can handle and more, but this isn’t a love match, Keira. It never will be.”
Her exhale, so world-weary and exhausted, made him shift, driven by an urge to do … something. He didn’t know. He still hadn’t figured it out when she said, “I know, Dmitri. It’s cute that you feel the need to point that out, but I’m not a teenager with stars in my eyes. I know what you are—and what this is. And, trust me, I’ll never expect love from you. Now, if you’re done with this entertaining little whatever-the-fuck-it-is, I’m tired and I’m going to bed.”
“Good night, Keira.” He hung up, still feeling off-kilter and not sure why. He hadn’t lied to her. Dishonesty was one line he didn’t cross unless he absolutely had to, and he would never do it with her. If he lied to her and tried to force her to his will, she would be more his enemy than wife. And that was unacceptable.
That’s it. That’s why it bothers me. I hurt her, even if it was the truth, and now she’s going to lash out and there will be consequences.
He put the phone in the top drawer of his desk and shut it, willing himself to focus on the next step. Tensions remained high with Alethea Eldridge, and he had to soothe her pride to ensure that she didn’t suspect anything. Irksome, but easy enough to do.
