I can't stop myself from fantasizing that the four of us are back in our rented room instead of a packed club. I’ve had a taste of all of them, and instead of satiating my hunger, it left me salivating for more.
Rush fucks my mouth with his, and I'm this close to coming from all the stimulation, but then Rush rips his mouth away from mine. His chest heaves and the protest is on the tip of my tongue when Wolf tips my head back and claims my mouth as his.
"Mine." The word is groaned into my mouth, this tortuous sound that turns me into a puddle. My neck strains as I try to claim more of his mouth. He's uncharacteristically restrained in this kiss, and I've had enough.
I break the kiss for a split second to spin around, and then throw my arms around his neck and reconnect our mouths. He moans into my mouth, and I hitch a leg up along his side. Strong, warm hands slide underneath my thighs from behind as one of my dark kings steps in close behind me. The smell of sweet citrus invades my senses.
Rush.
My quiet one. The one who always has my back—who's had my back long before I ever realized I needed someone to watch it. I often wonder what would've happened had I gotten the courage to confront him a year ago—or even just a couple of months earlier.
What would my life have looked like then?
Would I still be here, now? Would I be with all of them? Had Wolf not picked me up from the train station, and had my mother not gotten engaged—the thought of my mother stops my train of thought and threatens to kill my libido, so I squash it down. Way down. To someplace only a therapist can access many years from now.
The three of us move as one, and I tip my head back to look for my missing piece. Concern overshadows my lust for a moment when I don't find him right next to me. The lights flare and dim with the beat of the music, so half of his face is in shadows. I hold his gaze, my brow furrowing as Wolf kisses a path down my neck.
Sully takes a step forward, his face coming into the light. He gives me a slow, purposeful once-over, and goosebumps race across my skin. The intense desire on his face only fans my flames. He bites his lip, his eyes low and hooded as they take the three of us in. He gives me another slow perusal as he thumbs his lip in that stupid hot way guys do.
His gaze fucking smolders when it connects with mine. My lips twist as the realization becomes crystal clear.
Sully has voyeuristic tendencies.
And I like it—no, I fucking love it.
He's next to us, not quite touching, but close enough that I can reach out and touch him. So, I do.
They say a look is worth a thousand words, right? Well right now, Sully's looking at me like he wants to consume me.
And I plan on letting him.
In two steps, he eliminates the space between us as he smoothly steals my attention from his brothers. He slides his palms on either side of my face and growls out, "Mine." It sounds ripped from his very soul, and my body goes pliable in response.
He seals his declaration with a kiss that feels like it shakes the floor beneath my feet, and my body goes liquid.
It's not until the screams start that I pull away from Sully, slowly blinking to clear the lust from my eyes. Silently, I preen, pleased to see I'm not the only one affected.
Another scream sounds, reverberating off the walls. I scan the area, but all I can see is chaos. The people from the tables are running around, but the people on the dance floor are slower to move. Fear slithers inside my veins as I look for our escape route. A big warehouse-style place like this is sure to have more than the one standard emergency exit.
Sully curls his fingers around mine. "Time to go, princess."
"Aye, let's move out. I saw another exit behind the bar," Rush says before he strides in that direction. The rest of us follow behind him, Sully's grip never waivers. We weave around a few people, but otherwise make it outside unscathed.
None of us talk as we hurry toward the place we parked the car. Wolf didn't want to park the car in the lot with everyone else, and now I'm a little suspicious.
"Did you know what was going down tonight?"
Sully squeezes my hand. "Crazy shit always happens around Quinn.” He looks at me with a smirk. "That, and we like to give ourselves another exit. You know how Rush likes his backup plans."
My lips curve into a wry smile. "Of course."
“That, and we got an address on Aeron Briggsby. We’re going to pay him a little visit tonight,” Rush adds, spinning around to face us and walk backward down the block.
“Where’d that intel come from so quick?” Sully asks as his head in a continuous swivel around us.
“We bartered our allegiance to Quinn for the information—which he had ready to go, by the way. I may or may not have put some deliberate feelers out.”
“That’s a risky move, brother.”
“Aye, but I had some insurance lined up if we needed it.” Rush smirks as he scratches his stubble.
The car comes into view, and after Wolf checks it out, we all pile in and head for our next destination.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Wolf
Rush and I walk along the sidewalk closest to the homes, staying out of the pool of light from street lamps.
"You think it's safe to leave her there?" I ask my brother.
"Sully's got her. And we really do need a lookout. We have no idea what we'll find here—or who. We might need them if we run into trouble. If this guy has a personal jet at his disposal, I’m expecting a lot of manpower.”
I nod and step over a puddle. The air smells like rain, enough that I search the sky for an impending storm. But it's late as hell, so I can't see too much. "What does your gut say?"
Rush glances to the right and then left, his guard is always on. I mean, so is mine, but his is next level. I think it's because he spends so much of his time plotting and planning and maintaining his position—which is usually two steps ahead. He’s always glued to his command center, as Red calls it, looking for deceit and watching everyone and everything.
"My gut says this Aeron person is the only lead we have, so I’m hoping it leads to something. And if it is him, then we just have to figure out his connection to Gallagher Industries, how he found out about Alaina, and if he’s working alone.”
“Right. So, we’re on a wing and prayer? Just another day in the life, eh, brother?” I roll my eyes.
A dog barks in a nearby yard, and I cut my gaze toward the sound. I’m only satisfied when I realize the dog isn’t barking at us. We do not need any witnesses for our b and e tonight. We have connections—and they’re fucking good ones—but I don’t want to have to depend on them. Quinn’s fucking crazy, and I don’t want to owe that psycho a debt.
“What if we want to get married?” The question slips out before I realize it, and I feel my shoulders tighten on instinct.
Rush slows for a second before he recovers. Out of my peripheral, I see him stare at me, but I keep my gaze on our surroundings. I don’t know where the fuck that thought even came from, but now that it’s out there, I don’t want to take it back.
“I think that’s a conversation we all need to have together.”
“Aye. Together.”
“731. Here,” Rush murmurs, slowing his stride and walking down the paved driveway.
We keep to the shadows as we move toward the backyard of the small colonial-style house. A single lamp is on inside, but it’s otherwise dark, quiet. It’s a little shabby, but not neglected. More like whoever lives here just doesn’t keep up with it like it needs. That’s the problem with these old houses—they need a lot of upkeep.
Overgrown green bushes line the driveway, spilling into the concrete and concealing our movement from prying eyes.
We move toward the detached single-car garage in the backyard on silent feet. I slide my gun out of the shoulder holster and hold it at the ready should we run into the kind of trouble we can’t talk our way out of.
“I’ll keep watch. You look inside there,” I tell my brother with
a head tilt to the side.
Rush jogs across the grass, the wet blades absorbing any noise he might’ve made. He peers inside through a dirty window. “Nothing. Looks like some old computer equipment, but not much else.”
I nod my head toward the house, holding my gun chest-high and breathing in slow, easy breaths. Everything fades to the background as I focus on what we’re about to do.
There’s only one window in the back, and it’s on the second floor. Rush unholsters his own gun as we get into position. This isn’t the first time we’ve been in a similar situation, but we usually have Sully with us to watch our six. But if this sick fuck is home, we can’t have Red here. I won’t risk it.
I won’t risk her.
Rush and I lock eyes, and like we’ve practiced a thousand times, we open the door. The door creaks with disuse, and we step into the dark house.
We pause to listen for any movement. If there’s anyone home, there’s no way they didn’t hear that noise. After a few moments of silence, we start the process of securing the house, room by room.
When we’re sure someone isn’t hiding with a shotgun and a shaky trigger finger on the first floor, we head for the second floor.
Walking down the narrow hallway toward the staircase to the second-floor loft, I see something that stops me in my tracks. A gallery of black and white photos line the wall, all eight-by-tens in frame. “Rush, get a look at this.”
He stands next to me, gun at his side and brow furrowed. “Is that Coney Island? And this looks like New York.”
“Aye. And doesn’t this look like the fucking New York Public Library?” I ask, pointing to the photo next to it.
“Mm-hmm.”
I move a few feet down and look at the next photos. “And this looks like an outdoor music festival.”
We follow the photos to the end of the hall, most of which are familiar. None of them were in color, and none of them had any faces.
The second floor is more of a loft area, with just one big room and a small bathroom off to the side. But there could’ve been a goddamn mariachi band in the corner, and I still wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes off the shitshow in front of me. “What the fuck.”
Shock holds me immobile for a minute as I take in the enormity of what I’m looking at. Rush doesn’t have the same hesitation. He strides right for the far wall that looks like it’s from the set of some detective show. He holsters his gun and whips out his phone, photographing everything he can.
The action is enough to pull me out of my shock, and I do the same thing. There’s so much shit here, I have no idea if we’ll be able to get it all on camera.
A map takes up a good amount of space with different places circled in red and photos and cut-out newspaper articles about Gallagher Industries stapled against it. Sticky notes with barely legible words and red string connecting a few things.
I move to the opposite wall. It looks like some fucked up obsession wall. And Red is the star. They’re almost all paparazzi-style photos, except for a few that look like they’re printed from her Instagram account. At the café, on the street, with her cousins, at fucking O’Malley’s. In front of her dorm room window in her fucking underwear.
“Who the fuck is this guy? I’m gonna fucking rip his eyes out just for this.” The words come out in a growl, and I feel the beast inside me flexing against the chains I’ve kept him in. I can’t unleash him. Not until we find a worthy opponent. Liam Mason was barely a blip, and despite my need to extract my rage on him, I couldn’t deny Alaina the opportunity to get her own vengeance.
There’s one photo in the middle of all of them that stands out. Mostly because it’s been circled with red marker enough that it’s nearly worn through the paper. It’s a wide shot, so it shows more than just Red like the others. But the other thing, the thing that fucking freaks me out more than I’d like to admit, is that it’s from inside O’Malley’s. I’d recognize that bar and stage anywhere—and I’d recognize my brother too.
“Fuck. Get over here. Now,” I bark the words at my brother, and he’s next to me in a flash.
“What is it?”
“When was this?” I ask, pointing to the circled photo.
His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches the moment he sees what I saw. “That was shortly after I started going to O’Malley’s every week. A month tops.”
I nod and look at the ground, my mind spinning in too many directions. There’s only one thing to do though. “Fuck it. Let’s take it all.”
I stare at Rush, expecting him to tell me we can’t make such a bold move until we know who the fuck this Aeron Briggsby piece of shit is.
His jaw flexes. “Call Sully. Tell him change of plans and to come get us. We’re going to need to find something to carry all this shit in. Don’t leave a single piece behind, yeah?”
I send a quick text and start searching for a box or a laundry basket to get all this. I’ve seen enough crime dramas to know that whoever this fucking guy is, he’s lethal to Red. My gut churns with anxiety and fear coats my skin. I think we made a mistake in bringing Red to his doorstep.
He could be anywhere.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Alaina
I roll down my window as Sully shuts off the engine. The warm breeze filters through the car, ruffling the hair that's fallen out of the loose braid I pulled it into earlier. I was sweating pretty good by the time we left the pub, and it felt nice to pull my heavy hair off my neck.
“Do You Realize?” by The Flaming Lips plays softly through the speakers, and crickets sing in the distance. The moon is low in the sky, its bright light giving everything a pale glow.
We're parked a mile down the road from a stranger's house, waiting for my other two . . . boyfriends—men—I'm still getting used to the idea of having all three of them as my own. Boyfriend seems like something less than what this is, but there's still a certain thrill to it.
I lean against the car door, shifting so I face Sully. I look at his profile. Dark-blond scruff covers his angular jaw, his longer hair curls over his ears, and his nose has a bump in it from an obvious break. His dark, sooty lashes frame his ocean-blue eyes, and even now, he still takes my breath away sometimes.
They all do.
"So how does it feel to be my boyfriend again?" My lips twist to the side with my tease.
I’m not sure if he's going to lash out at me like a scared puppy or not. We’ve grown close over the last few days, but his default setting is to run from feelings. And knowing his past, I don’t even blame him. Nothing but time will help that.
It’s okay. I’m onto him now, and his little barbs don't hold as much weight as they used to. Or maybe I've changed. Grown. That's all we can ask for in life, isn't it? To grow, to become better versions of ourselves. Change is never easy, but it's necessary. I imagine the rest of my life if I didn't change—didn't start the journey to figuring out who the hell I am. It's bleak and lackluster and sad.
Sully's need to push people away rides him hard, and sometimes he can't help himself. It's alright, I can be patient. I've waited years to get him back, now that I have him, I can wait a little longer until he's ready to talk without snapping anytime someone gets too close to his emotions.
He looks at me from underneath his lashes, his lips twisting to the side. "I'm not your boyfriend."
For the briefest moment, I'm shocked. Then I get over my own shit and do what I do best: push him. I unbuckle my seat belt and place a hand on the middle console.
Sully raises a brow. "What are you doing, Alaina?"
I move my hand from the console to his shoulder and climb into his lap. His hands automatically move to my waist as I hover above him. Sliding my arms up his arms, over his shoulders and around his neck, I lean in and sink down. The skirt of my dress rides up my hips and exposes us to any prying eyes. Not that there's anyone around who can see anything. "What does it feel like I'm doing?"
Sully slides his warm palms along my ribs, stopping when his thumbs rea
ch the curve of my breasts. He tips his head back and holds my gaze, his eyes lighting with interest. "We're on lookout, princess."
I move from side to side on his lap, the movements small. “I know. But you said you weren't my boyfriend, and I think.” I pause and roll my hips over him, my teeth digging into my bottom lip when I feel the hard ridges of his cock. “We need to remedy that misunderstanding."
Sully uses his grip around my ribs to press me into his lap, stilling my movement. His cock hits me at all the right angles, and I swear he did that on purpose. I thread my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly. He groans, closing his eyes for a second. When they open again, they sear me to the spot. A shiver tiptoes down my back with the intensity in his gaze.
He moves one hand to the back of my neck and brings my face closer to his. "Nothing to remedy, princess. I'm not your boyfriend." He leans in, so his lips graze mine with each syllable. "I'm your motherfucking man." He crushes his mouth to mine, our lips sliding against one another, fighting for dominance.
Victory sings in my veins.
He tilts my head, deepening our kiss. My skin feels hot and tight, and I'm itching to remove some layers between us. They got me all worked up on that dance floor, and like a match to a flame, I’m burning within moments.
I crave the feeling of his skin on mine. Of the way his muscles flex and bulge when he gets me right where he wants me—where I want to be.
I groan into his mouth, rolling my hips against his. His answering moan heightens my desire, and I tear my mouth away from his, intent on removing his shirt at the very least.
I slide my hand underneath his tee, the soft fabric a juxtaposition with his hard muscles. I legitimately never thought eight-packs were real until I met the Fitzgerald brothers.
Sully: An Irish Mafia Romance (The Brotherhood Book 3) Page 22
