“Oh my god, they shot that guy?!” Alana cried out hysterically the moment I let her go.
“Wait here,” I ordered as I ducked low and crawled out of the storage room, I kept low as I made my way to the counter. The teller was shot point blank in the head and his brains were splattered all over the cigarette shelf behind him. Looking up I noticed the security light blinking, which means he had reached for the panic button giving me probably about ten minutes to get out of here. I rushed around the counter careful not to touch anything and found the video surveillance. I used the hem of my shirt to push the eject button and then grabbed the disk. We had no time to waste. I went back to the storage room and plucked Alana up by her arm, instead of using the front door, we went out the back.
“Is he dead?” Alana asked.
“Yes.”
“Should we not call the police?”
“Trust me sweetheart, they’re already on the way, and if they find us, we’ll be behind bars in no time.”
“But we can’t just leave him like that?” she continued.
I know she was scared and confused, but I needed her to get a grip and fast. The sooner she realized that life isn’t a box of chocolates and a bed of roses, the better. I grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her lightly, “Alana, listen to me. The cops, the FBI and the whole fucking country is going to hunt you down. Simply because you’re Fergus’ daughter. Now I’m going to be as blunt as I can be. You’re a fugitive, and that’s that. Get on the fucking bike,” I ground out and handed her the helmet.
I started the bike and waited for her to get on, but she just stood frozen.
“Alana! Get on the god damn bike.”
Realization swept over her and she launched herself on to the back of the bike and we sped off.
Alana
This cannot possibly be happening! I’m supposed to be in college, go to class, and hang out with my friends. Instead I’m a fugitive who just witnessed a cold-blooded murder. Something had to give; somehow this had to be a monumental mistake. I had to get hold of my dad and find out exactly what was going on. It was already dark when Irish pulled up to a store somewhere in Ludlow. We had travelled across the state line into Pennsylvania.
“Where are you going?” I asked nervously as he pulled the bike off into an alley.
“Wait here,” he simply said.
I was a nervous wreck, and even though I was wearing a thick leather jacket, it felt as if my bones were frozen icicles. Not because it was cold, but because I was stiff as hell and scared as shit. I walked to the end of the alley, trying to see if I could spot Irish, but he had disappeared. What if he left me behind? I wondered as I chewed my thumb nail, something I always did when I was nervous. Pacing back and forth I started to work myself up, wondering what would happen if I did go to the police. I mean seriously I don’t have a criminal record, what could they possibly have against me? Across the road, I spotted a phone booth. It stood out like a winning lottery ticket, and just as I aimed to head towards it, Irish reappeared, carrying camping gear.
“What’s that for?” I asked confused.
“We’re going camping,” he said and secured the tent on the back of the bike.
“Are we not going to stay here?” I asked nervously.
“No, it’s too risky,” he said flatly.
“But where are we going to…”
“I don’t know, we’ll find a spot, get on the bike.”
“Irish, why don’t we just call the cops, they don’t have anything against me, so maybe they can, I don’t know… help?” I said exasperatedly.
Irish leaned on the bike and dropped his head, “Alana, your dad is a part of the Irish mafia, and he’s a wanted man…”
“What?!” I asked in shock.
“There are things you don’t know about your dad, about his entire enterprise, I’m not just some white collar who sits behind a desk all day, I think you already know that,” he started.
This was too much; it felt as if my head was spinning. Bending over I put my hands on my knees and shook my head, “Why didn’t he ever tell me?” I muttered.
“Well hopefully you’ll get to ask him yourself soon.”
Irish placed his hand on the back of my neck, and crouched down beside me, “Alana, I’m a hit man and I know that you have no reason to trust me, but I made a promise to Fergus to keep you alive, and if that’s all I end up doing, then that’s enough. Now we cannot hang around here. By now I’m sure the FBI had started their man hunt, we cannot book into hotels.”
I was crying, not hysterically, just weeping. My entire life had been a complete lie. All this time, my dad was in the mafia and I didn’t even know that. Exasperated, I stood up and reached for the helmet. I had switched into autopilot mode, put the helmet on, get on the bike, run, trust Irish, and that was it. There was no time to reminisce about what could have or should have happened. I was on the run with a hit man. My dad’s most trusted, I don’t even know what to call him… friend, or colleague. By now I was sure that my poster was up on store windows right next to his, and I’ve most certainly been suspended from college. My life as I knew it was over.
We drove for another twenty minutes or so before he turned off onto to a dirt road, more like a hiking trail really, and I had no idea where we were. The ride was bumpy and my butt was hurting already. I was literally counting down the seconds hoping he would stop soon so that I could stretch my legs and clear the fog in my brain. I kept recalling memories of my dad, trying to see how I could have missed so much. Surely at some point in my life I should have realized that my father wasn’t just any dad. But he had kept me at arm’s length, shoving me into boarding schools. Not that I complained, the boarding schools were pretty awesome. Only the best for his little girl, if only I knew then that the money used was tainted. I had so many questions with so little answers.
Irish eventually pulled to a stop in the middle of nowhere, I had underestimated the darkness here in the woods, especially when Irish turned off the engine. He was the first to get off, taking the camping gear with him. He handed me a flashlight and dropped the gear at the base of a large tree.
“Stay put, I need to hide the bike,” he said as he started chopping at small branches hanging low over the ground.
I felt disorientated and scared, if we weren’t going to be caught by the Bronx Raiders, or the FBI, we sure as hell would probably be attacked by a wild animal.
Soon enough Irish had the camping gear up on his back and we were making our way through the dense undergrowth of the forest. With nothing but our flashlights to guide the way, it was tricky getting through the thicket of trees, but eventually Irish stopped and looked around.
“This will do for now,” he said and dropped the camping gear on the ground.
A cold shiver ran down my spine and I cursed under my breath.
“We’ll be back on the road by dawn, we need to cross the border into Mexico, then we should be reasonably safe, I have a few connections there.”
“Mexico, are you serious?” I asked disbelievingly.
“If you want to stay alive then yes, from there we’ll try to get to Brazil.”
Irish started to set up the two man tent, and I stood around feeling sorry for myself. I could already see myself living in one of those over populated towns, making ends meet by selling second hand clothes or even worse myself just to get by.
A little while later we were huddled around a small campfire, and other than the flames that looked so inviting and warm, the darkness that surrounded us was ominous and depressing. It’s been years since I went camping, I think I was about ten the last time. I liked it then, but this time around it wasn’t a recreational camping trip.
“So tell me about my dad,” I whispered as I stared blankly into the fire.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything?”
Irish sighed and tossed a small stick into the fire, “I’ve known your dad for a long time, he’s a good man, don’t ev
er question that, he only wanted the best for you.”
I sighed, Irish wasn’t helping. I loved my dad, but now, not knowing who or what he was, left me scared and confused.
“There are ways to get the best for your child, without wheeling and dealing. Look where that’s gotten him, and me…” I drifted off and swallowed at the lump in my throat.
“I know, it’s not an ideal situation. Look, whatever your dad is being accused of is a setup. A few days ago there was a shipment that arrived at port. It was a big drug bust, and whoever was involved implicated your dad. And I’ve worked with your dad, if there is one thing he never got involved in, it was narcotics.”
I studied Irish and worried my lip, “So what was he involved in?”
“Money laundering, real estate and so on, he evaded tax but they couldn’t ever prove any of it. Shamrock’s been after your dad for years, and now that he’s devised the perfect plan to persecute him, he has your dad by the balls.”
“Who’s Shamrock?”
“Your dad’s nemesis. They weren’t always enemies, but after your mother died things went sour between them.”
What did my mom have to do with any of this? More secrets and more lies, I wasn’t sure if I could ever recover from all of this.
“What did he have to do with my mom?” I asked curiously.
Irish grew quiet and reached into one of the backpacks and pulled out a packet of crisps and offered me some, but I declined and hugged my arms tighter around me.
“Shamrock used to be your dad’s right-hand man, but with your dad away working so often, and your mother being lonely, the two of them had an affair. Your dad was heartbroken when he found out. He loved your mother more than anything. So, when he told her to choose between him or Shamrock, your mother wasn’t able to choose, one morning, she overdosed…”
“My dad said she died of a heart attack,” I blurted out.
“That’s true, but it was a drug induced heart attack,” Irish muttered, “She couldn’t choose, so she committed suicide.”
Bile pushed up in my throat and I tried to keep myself calm, everything, my whole life was one big lie. I always thought my mother died of natural causes, that was what my dad always told me. He never once mentioned an affair, or insinuated that she didn’t want to live. A strangled cry escaped my throat as I stood up. I was surprised that I still had any tears left to cry. One blow after the other, my world was crashing down. I fled into the small tent and fell on top one of the sleeping bags. I didn’t hear Irish enter either, only when he rested his hand on the small of my back where I lay with my head buried in my arms did I realize he was here with me.
I shot up and sat on my knees looking straight at him with tears streaming down my face, “Why did he hide all of this from me?” I cried out angrily.
“He wanted to protect you.”
I went through the motions, from sadness to anger to disappointment and back to being sad, and as I balled my fists and pounded them against Irish’s chest. He just took it in stride.
“This isn’t what I wanted out of life! I wanted a normal life, go to college, become an accountant, do something extraordinary, but now it’s all lost!”
“I know lass, I know,” he soothed.
He didn’t stop my assault, only turned his face out of the way as he let me blow off steam. Eventually I slumped against him, burying my face in the crook of his neck. From the first day, Irish had been open and honest with me. Now, he was the one who decided to tell me the truth. My dad couldn’t even bring himself to do that. I felt robbed and deceived by my own blood.
Irish embraced me and hugged me close against him. His skin was warm in comparison to my own, and it felt somewhat comforting, having someone who would simply just hold me. With tear streaked cheeks I nestled closer against him, I could feel his breath in my hair and his hand sliding up my back until it rested between my shoulder blades.
“Irish,” I whispered, and then he pulled back a little, lifting my chin.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you lass,” he said with such compassion that made my insides melt.
“Hold me,” I said and then his lips brushed mine.
My mind was a mess, and here I was literally throwing myself at him, a distraction. That’s all it was, I needed a distraction, I told myself, as I willingly parted my lips for him. His rough beard scraped against my smooth skin and I heard him groan. He wanted me, and I liked it. For once I just didn’t want to think about the fact that I was a fugitive, or that my dad lied to me all these years. For once I didn’t want to be the prude virgin. What good would that do anyways? I would never again have a normal life, marry the man of my dreams or have a beautiful home with a white picket fence. This was all I had, this moment in time. I tentatively slipped my tongue into his mouth, testing the waters, and again he groaned, fisting my hair in his hand, while his other hand was slowly sliding down my side. His thumb grazed the side of my breast and a shiver of anticipation shot through me.
“Irish…” I whispered.
“Alana, are you sure?” he asked as he pressed his forehead against mine.
“You only live once,” I mumbled and kissed him again.
This time he lowered me to the sleeping bag and covered me with his body, I could feel his erection pushing against the apex of my thighs, and my own sex throbbed with need. Between the exhilarating feeling of desire and confusion, I had to admit one thing. I’ve never had sex, and if he found out, he would probably not touch me.
“Have you ever had sex before?” he asked as if he was able to read my mind.
“Yes,” I lied, “Once.”
He edged himself on to his elbow and studied me, “Once?”
I nodded and bit my lip, “At the party,” I lied again.
“Are you sure about that?” he asked raising a brow.
“Are you going to have sex with me or not?”
I wanted something to remember if shit went pear in the next few days, I couldn’t die a virgin. Irish may be much older than me, but he didn’t look it. He was a strong man who could give a twenty-one-year old a run for his money. Handsome with a mop of blonde hair that made him look younger too.
Irish studied me and a wicked smile played on his lips, “So if I touch you like this, you wouldn’t lose your mind and cum straight away?” he whispered as he moved one hand to flick my stiff nipple though the thin cotton of my vest. A tendril of excitement shot through me like a cord that was linked to every erogenous zone in my body. He kept teasing my nipple until he finally slid his hand under my top to cup my right beast.
“Ooh, well, you know, first time sex experiences aren’t as great as everyone says,” I muttered as my lids dragged open and closed.
“So, what was it, shag, bang thank you ma’am?” he asked.
I nodded. I wasn’t born under a rock, I often heard the girls at college talk about their sexual encounters, some more exciting than others, but so often they complained about the fact that the guy had no clue what he was doing. It was a matter of diving in, hump a lot and wham, done and dusted. But somehow I didn’t think Irish would be the type to just leave me unfinished.
“Do you trust me?” he asked as he looked at me.
“Do I have any reason not to trust you?” I challenged.
He smirked and shook his head, “No,” he simply answered.
“Then I trust you,” I said.
Irish pushed himself up on to his knees and reached over his head to pull his shirt off, my heart was doing somersaults in my chest. This time in the dim glow of the light that hung above us in the tent, I could take the time to admire the work of art that covered his chest. There was something about tattoos that totally got my heart racing. And on Irish it was an explosive combination.
His eyes roamed over my body from my lips down over my chest to my legs, it felt as if he was touching me although he wasn’t. The way he looked at me with such desire caused my body to break out in goose bumps.
“Take off your clot
hes,” he said, and I obeyed.
I sat up and slowly pulled my vest off, the cool night air assaulted my skin and my nipples hardened even more, at first I kept my arms crossed over my chest, but he gently pried them away.
“Don’t be shy lass, we’re both adults,” he whispered.
I recalled the receipts I found in the glove compartment on the first day, and for a second I hesitated, “How many women have you had sex with?”
“Too many to remember and even fewer I want to remember,” he said and reached for the front clasp of my bra, “You’re having second thoughts?”
“No, I just want to know,” I said embarrassed.
His lips curled into a smile and he stood up in a crouched position to take off his boots and his jeans, he was completely naked underneath and a breath caught in my throat.
“Your turn,’” he coaxed.
I bit my lip and I could feel the heat rush to my cheeks. I’ve seen him naked in all his glory but I’m sure his penis wasn’t as big as it was tonight.
“C-can I touch you?” I asked and swallowed at the dryness in my throat.
“Sweetheart you can do whatever you want.”
There was something wild about him that made me tremble with excitement, with shaking fingers I reached out and ran the tips of my fingers down his abs to the slight strip of hair above his penis. I licked my lips and reached for his member, touching the mushroomed tip with my index finger, there was a drop of liquid on the tip, sticky and smooth. I held my breath, and he too inhaled sharply.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as I wrapped my small hand around his very large stiff erection.
I was beside myself, it was like velvet steel and my brain could not string together a single thought.
“You’re killing me lass,” he muttered as he wrapped his hand around mine, “Stroke it, like this,” he said and moved my hand up and down his length.
“I’ve never touched a guy’s penis before,” I breathed.
He groaned and pushed me down onto my back, “It’s not a penis love, it’s a cock,”
I swallowed, “It sounds crude,” I said softly.
Sinful Takeover_An Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 26
