He’d received one message at the address so far, and it was nothing but ten numbers—a phone number.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the burner phone he’d purchased earlier that day, and punched in the numbers from the email.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” he said.
“Damn.” Liam’s voice was thick with emotion. “It’s good to hear you.”
“Same here,” Connor answered, surprised at the bittersweet emotions that rolled through him.
“How are you? Is everything going like it should?”
Connor looked at the fading sun and the lights of downtown San Diego blinking to life. “Yeah, it’s going exactly like it should. There’s a pub. I have a role there. And my roommate has a place too. An office. She’s really excited.” He tried so hard not to say too much, but he wanted to let Liam know how happy they were.
“I’m proud of you both,” his brother answered. “No problems?”
“No, man. I’ve been very careful, but no sign of anything.”
“Good. Just remember when you start to relax is when you’re most at risk.”
Connor nodded. Liam had always taught him that. Never let your guard down when you feel like you should, keep it up longer than that, and then longer still.
“Yep,” he answered. “I’ll remember. I learned from the best.”
Liam snorted. “Then get rid of the device you have, and I’ll send you a new number in a couple of weeks, yeah?”
“That’d be great.”
“We decided we’d take turns holding on to it, so you’ll get somebody different every time.”
Connor smiled, imagining his brothers arguing over who got to talk to him and finally developing a complicated system for passing the phones around.
“Good. I wouldn’t want to get stuck with you every time,” he joked.
“Dick,” Liam said good-naturedly.
“Love you too,” Connor answered.
“Slán abhaile,” Liam said softly.
“Slán abhaile,” Connor answered, then the call disconnected. Liam had probably started a timer the second Connor said hello, because eventually, in spite of whatever fancy rerouting he knew Cian would have had Lila put on the call, the signal could be tracked. The longer they talked, the longer it gave someone else to follow the trail of breadcrumbs from cell tower to cell tower, around the country or the world, until it landed on Connor’s exact location.
Connor removed the SIM card and crushed it, then put the rest of the phone in his pocket to be disposed in a trashcan on their way to dinner. He took one last look at the sun as it sank into the Pacific. Freedom. It came with a price, but a price he’d pay again and again. He’d never tasted anything quite like it. It tasted like life.
Lila sat up in bed, something making her heart race. She listened carefully in the heavy dark that shrouded the room. Then she heard it again, the sound of feet on carpet. Her heart thumped hard, but she silently climbed out of bed, phone in hand as she made her way to the door. She peered out the crack in the doorway, ready to have an armed Russian leap out at her. But instead, all she saw was a soft light from the room two doors down—a small workout space where Cian kept a treadmill and weights.
She tiptoed down the hall, sounds of heavy breathing and soft grunts coming from the room.
When she peeked around the corner, Lila’s heart did a flip. There was Cian, shadow boxing in the full-length mirror that covered one wall of the room. He was naked from the waist up and wore only shiny compression shorts from the waist down. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his hands shooting out in a pattern over and over again. His breath came short and fast, and once every three or four punches, he’d hit harder, grunting softly as he did.
She watched him, breathless, forgetting she was violating his privacy, she was so intrigued by the choreography of what he did. It was beautiful, even though she knew in real life, boxing was a horribly violent sport. But the way Cian did it, the grace with which he moved, jabbed, floated over the floor, it was like a dance. Amazing.
As if he sensed her presence, his gaze in the mirror shot to the doorway. Lila nearly ducked and ran back to her room, but it was too late.
“I’m sorry,” she said, quickly. “I heard sounds and just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He turned and faced her, his skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat that made her want to touch it.
“I’m sleeping really lightly these days. It doesn’t take much to wake me.”
He gave her a small smile. “Well, since you’re here,” he said, crooking one finger at her.
She did as he directed without a second thought. She should be worried about that, but somehow, she couldn’t be bothered.
When she got into the room, he motioned for her to face the mirror, then came up behind her. She was wearing a tank top with no bra and a pair of yoga pants, and she suddenly felt self-conscious.
He stood behind her and put his hands on her arms. “Remember what I taught you that day at the gym? Show me what you got, Lila from Rogue,” he said in a low, husky voice.
She lifted her arms and made small fists.
“Good,” he rasped, positioning her arms and holding on to her wrists, his big biceps pressing against her shoulders as he did.
Her breath was shallow and rapid as she watched them in the mirror.
“Now, there’s a rhythm to it,” he coached. “It’s one, one, two.” He moved her arms in punches—left, left, right.
“There you go,” he said, his voice dropping lower, eyelids heavy.
Lila felt the same heaviness, in her core, in her arms, in the way her breath dragged through her like she couldn’t quite get enough in.
He continued to move her arms in soft punches like she was a doll, but his head dropped to the crook between her neck and shoulder, and he buried his nose in the strands of hair that rested there.
“Lila,” he whispered, his voice as hoarse as hers. “You should go now, while you have the chance. You should get out of this room, out of this town, out of my world.”
She couldn’t help it when her head fell back against him and her eyes slid shut. He still held her arms, but they’d both stopped shadow boxing, and now his hands stroked up and down her sensitive skin, his hips pressed against her ass, his breath and lips on her neck.
“Is that what you want?” she whispered.
“I want you to be safe,” he said, one finger tracing along her shoulder, then down over her collar bone, into her cleavage. “I want you to be happy.” His tongue flicked her earlobe. “But I also just want you.”
“I never saw you coming,” she rasped as she arched her back and moaned softly under his onslaught. “I never saw any of this coming.”
“I know,” he answered, and there was anguish in it, a brush of despair.
“I know I need to leave, but for tonight, can we just do this?” she asked, pulling away so she could look him in the eye. “For tonight, can we pretend you’re not you and I’m not me and this is all there is?”
He gently pushed her hair back out of her face, his eyes blue pools of mystery and danger.
“If that’s what makes you happy, then yes.”
She nodded, and he took in a shaky breath before lowering his lips to hers. It started tentative, tasting, exploring, but then turned hungry, tongues twisting, lips sliding, skin on skin, breath hot and heavy. He pulled away, and his eyes glittered. Her skin was heated, sensitive, wanting.
He took her hand and led her down the hall to his bedroom with its big bed and luxurious sheets. In the silence and the darkness, he peeled her tank top down, leaving her arms trapped by the straps as he traced her small breasts with his index finger before lowering his head and taking one firm nipple in his mouth. He sucked once, and she gasped, the sensations so intense, her knees nearly buckled.
His breath was harsh as his stubble scraped against the skin over her br
eastbone. When his mouth reached her jaw, he cupped one side in his big hand while his lips explored the other.
She cried out quietly, arching her neck and melting into his touch.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, taking a hank of her hair and running it through his fingers before his lips came down over hers again, seeking, devouring, worshiping.
Lila’s head swam, and her heart expanded, pressing painfully against her rib cage. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but she felt entirely unable to stop it. As he slid her tank top and yoga pants over her hips and down her legs, following their path with his lips, she knew more than just her throat was going to hurt like hell tomorrow. Because she did need to go, and even if she didn’t, there was no future for her and this man. Only tonight.
Yes, Lila thought as she pushed the waist of his sweatpants down and felt all the hard smoothness of him, tomorrow she was going to take the chance she was being given to finally leave her father’s legacy far behind. Maybe she’d see if she could bring her mother with her—give them both a fresh start without the man who’d turned them into people they never intended to be.
And as Cian pressed Lila back into his deep, rich bedding, and filled the darkest, sweetest places in her, she knew she’d never be the same again. Her world had changed forever, and at the center of that change was this man, this perfect, beautiful, frightening man. While Lila’s nails dug into the wings that graced his back like those of an angel and her raw throat shredded with her cries, she knew the real mistake hadn’t been working for a mobster. It had been falling in love with one.
The sun had barely risen when Danny was shown into Robbie’s office. The old man was sitting behind his desk, a cup of Irish coffee next to him, the newspaper spread out over his computer keyboard.
“You find Connor yet?” Robbie asked gruffly as he folded up the paper.
“No, sir. But we’re pursuing every avenue possible. We’ll find him eventually.”
Robbie harrumphed. “Better be sooner than later,” he growled.
Danny agreed silently, because sometimes it was best not to use too many words with Robbie.
“You have anything else for me? Any more pictures?”
Danny pulled out an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed it over. While Robbie opened the clasp and slid the photos out, Danny explained.
“Cian got a call from the girl at Rogue two nights ago. We went to the office Rogue uses as a front, and turns out she’d offed the nerd boss.”
Robbie looked at the photos of Xavier’s body, then at Danny, silently questioning.
“They argued, I don’t know what about, and he attacked her. She fought him off, but in the scuffle, he hit his head, and that’s all she wrote.”
Robbie examined the rest of the photos for a moment. “What did Cian do about it?”
“Had Finn clean it up, then took the girl to his place. She’s been there ever since.”
Robbie’s slow smile was as cold as ice.
“Did he now?” Robbie focused on Danny. “Pretty girl, isn’t she? And he doesn’t want anyone to find out she killed her boss. Where’s the body?”
Danny told him what had been done with the corpse.
“Good. It’ll be safe there for now, but I want you to check every few days, make sure Finn hasn’t had it moved.” Robbie’s lips turned up in a smile. “And then I want to know what his relationship is to this girl. I want her watched all the time. Let me know where she pisses, who she talks to, what her favorite thing to eat is.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Danny said before standing and moving to the door.
“There’s a little bonus for you on the table in the hallway as you leave,” Robbie directed.
Danny grinned. This was why he liked working for Mr. MacFarlane. He always made sure to express his thanks in the most generous way possible.
As the door closed behind Danny, Robbie swiveled his chair to look out the window at the garden. Insurance. He was going to have a new policy, and her name was Lila Rodriguez. Because Robbie knew his oldest son, and Cian was soft. Especially for pretty brunettes who needed rescuing.
But now Lila was a murderer and Cian was an accomplice, and Robbie had one hell of an insurance policy. He was going to use it to get his youngest son back where he belonged, and then he was going to use it to make sure his oldest never betrayed him this way again.
Robbie MacFarlane was out for blood.
Want to know what’s next for Cian, Lila, and all the MacFarlane men? Turn the page for a peek at BRUSH OF DESPAIR book two in the Dublin Devils trilogy.
Available now!
Excerpt from Brush of Despair (Dublin Devils 2)
Katerina Zima Volkova opened her eyes to darkness. An oppressive, and overwhelming darkness. It was only because she could hear breathing that she knew she wasn’t alone. Even though they were all jammed into the small space, there was no light anywhere, so she couldn’t see the body closest to hers no matter how much she strained her eyes.
"Nadja," she whispered, digging her elbow into soft flesh. "Nadja." She elbowed her neighbor again.
"Ukhodi!" Nadja mumbled, slapping at Katerina’s elbow. Go away.
"Nyet. Vstavay," Katerina replied. Wake up.
Nadja cursed and moved. Katerina could feel her friend sitting up next to her.
"What do you want?" Nadja snapped as someone across the room shushed them both.
"We need to try to get out of here," Katerina whispered. "This may be our only chance."
Nadja sighed, and the resignation in that one small sound sent Katerina’s anger spinning to the surface.
"We’re not giving up," she grit beneath her breath.
"Katya," Nadja answered softly as she placed a hand on Katerina’s arm. "They are too powerful, too strong. They will find us and it will be so much worse."
"Worse than being forced to service filthy men in an even filthier brothel?" Katerina snapped. "Worse than being told when we can and can’t eat, bathe, use the bathroom? Worse than never seeing friends or family again?"
Nadja snorted softly in the pitch black. "It’s already too late for that."
Katerina tried not to think about the moment earlier in the day when the men had chosen Nadja to take away. Every day they chose a handful of women in the room and took them away, bringing them back several hours later. Sometimes the women were beaten, sometimes they were crying. Some hadn’t spoken since they’d returned. And Nadja had come back with glassy eyes and slurred words. She’d mumbled something at Katya then fallen asleep on the bare, dirty mattress they shared. When she’d woken a few hours later she’d pasted on a big smile, and said to Katya, "Now get the cards back out because you’re going to owe me money."
Katerina tentatively put her hand into the dark void, meeting up with Nadja’s knee. She gave it a quick squeeze, then whispered, "If we get away it doesn’t have to happen again."
"Katya." Nadja cupped the back of Katerina’s head and drew their foreheads together. "I’ve seen these men. There is no getting away."
Then she lay back down, murmuring for Katerina to get some sleep because they never knew when the men would come back.
Katerina stared into the darkness, hearing the women around her as they slept, dreamed, cried. Some prayed quietly to themselves, others whispered to one another like she and Nadja. She breathed deeply of the odor of sweat and fear. How long would they be kept here like this, she wondered? And how many more opportunities would they have to escape before they were taken someplace even worse?
Something in Katerina’s gut told her a window was closing, but she wouldn’t leave Nadja, no matter what. They’d planned to move to America together, filling out the applications that their friend Jakob had given them for jobs as hostesses. They didn’t know what hostesses were, but Jakob said it was working in restaurants, making the diners feel comfortable. "It’s easy work," he’d said. "They like pretty girls who can smile."
Katerina and Nadja had been thrilled. The
y were young, they were pretty, they could smile. And with the hostess jobs, Jakob told them, they would get a one room apartment to live in, plus some wages to pay for other things. So for months Katerina and Nadja had planned, waiting to hear if they’d gotten the jobs. Jakob said not to worry, it was a sure thing. But it took time to get the immigration paperwork, and they should count their blessings the company that was hiring them did all that for them. Most employers wouldn’t.
Then the day had come when Jakob knocked on the door of Katerina’s small apartment she shared with her mother.
"The paperwork is done," he’d said. "Get your things because you need to go to the airport right away."
She’d left a note for her mother, not that it mattered. Paula Volkolva hadn’t cared much about anything Katerina did in years. The older woman spent her days working as a washroom attendant at a private luncheon club before she’d move on to her other job as the second shift housekeeper in the home of a wealthy government official. By the time Paula came home at midnight she didn’t care where her daughter was or what she was doing. And Katerina imagined Paula wouldn’t be terribly distressed she’d run off to America either. Although she’d miss Katerina’s contribution to the rent.
It had all seemed so perfect those first few hours. Katerina and Nadja had been taken by bus to the airport with a group of other young women. There were twenty-five of them and they waited in a special lounge at a private airstrip for a small jet that they were told was owned by the company they’d be working for.
Katerina had never been to an airport, flown on a plane, or lived outside her mother’s neighborhood in Moscow. She had been in awe of the sight of the jet sitting on a darkened runway when they were finally allowed to board late at night.
They’d spent the next twenty hours flying. First to Istanbul where they boarded a different plane, and then to the city that was supposed to be their new home—Chicago. She’d watched the sun sparkle off the mirrored windows of the skyscrapers as their plane had swung over the city on its descent. It had been morning when they’d landed, and even as exhausted as she was, Katerina had felt a surge of hope unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
Breath of Deceit (Dublin Devils Book 1) Page 22
