by Sophia Gray
“Oh God, Ciaran,” she muttered. Tears were forming in her angelic blue eyes. Reaching for me, she wrapped her slender arms around my waist and buried her face in my chest. I was surprised, but embraced her easily, stroking her long brown hair. “She’s dead. I can’t believe…how could they just…?”
“Shh,” I told her gently. “It’s okay.”
She pulled back from me. “Okay?” she demanded, her eyes wide and her expression incredulous. “How can you say that? She was your mother!”
And that was when the dumbest thing ever slipped out of my mouth. “Not my biological mother.”
Horrified, Elle took a step back from me.
Realizing just how terrible that sounded, I shook my head and tried to clarify. “That came out all wrong. I mean, she didn’t give birth to me, but she was more mom than someone like me ever deserved. She was the sweetest damn woman.” I stopped because I felt a lump forming in my throat. I wasn’t the type to lose my shit over anything, but this was Ma and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with this. “I just meant that Ma took a lot of people in. Even when they didn’t deserve it. And some of them didn’t turn out so well. She knew the risks…and that doesn’t make any of this better.”
Elle’s expression softened as sympathy welled in her eyes. She stepped back towards me, reaching out to lay a delicate hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry. She seemed like such a sweet woman.”
I nodded. “She was.”
I didn’t want to talk about her right now. Couldn’t. “Listen, why don’t you sit by the fire and I’ll see if I can make us some food? I need to make some calls anyway.”
Elle frowned at me for a moment, then glanced towards the burning fire. There was intense need in her eyes and it was clear she wanted desperately to go to it. But she hesitated. “You’re going to call the police?” she questioned.
I blanched. “Police?” Why the hell would I want to involve them?
“Yeah. To tell them…what happened.” She hesitated. “With your mom.”
My throat tightened, but I swallowed several times to clear it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”
I shook my head. “It’s complicated.”
She folded her arms across her chest, the fabric of her dress tightening across her breasts, which were already straining. She was definitely more endowed than Ma had been in her youth. “Tell me, or I’m going to call the police myself.”
That is definitely not a good idea.
Sighing, I realized I was going to have to give her something. People were shooting at her. Someone was dead. She needed something to keep her together. Running a hand nervously through my hair, I decided there were pieces I could give her, and pieces I couldn’t. “What if I told you the police wouldn’t be very helpful?”
“Why not? Someone’s dead, Ciaran! Stopping those crazy men is their job!” Elle protested.
I winced. In a black and white, perfect world, that would be the truth. But mine was full of gray truths. Shane was the bad, but I was no hero. I wasn’t sure anyone would call me the good guy, even if Shane was the bad. But I needed a reason to explain all of this to Elle without making her want to head for the hills. Mostly because there was no way she was getting out of here without one of Shane’s men spotting her now.
Finally, I said, “The man who sent those men, his name is Shane McCarthy. And he’s my brother. Adopted, just like me.”
Elle’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “And he just…just killed her like that? In cold blood?”
“He was never quite right,” I told her, and that was true. Pa had favored me, yes, but it was because Shane had always shown the wrong kinds of signs to Pa. He’d sensed something off in him. “But Shane also didn’t do it himself. He sent one of his guys, who apparently didn’t care who she was.”
“That doesn’t explain why you don’t want to go to the police,” she pointed out. “I know he’s your brother, but if he’s okay with murder—”
I stopped her there. “That’s not it. He needs to pay. There is no avoiding that now. But going to the police is…risky.” Because they’ll probably arrest me, too.
“Why?” Elle demanded again.
“Because Shane has guys working for him. Guys in the police force.” It was the truth and I suddenly felt stupid for not going to that in the first place. What better reason to not trust the police?
Elle frowned, looking more worried than ever, but she looked convinced, too, which was definitely a good thing. I needed her to understand that it was a bad idea to go to the police. That way she wouldn’t try something stupid on her own if I wasn’t around.
“Why…” She shook her head and tried again. “What do you mean that he has guys in the police force? Why would your brother have guys at all?”
I had the feeling that she was starting to put together some things and they weren’t all kosher. She was probably sensing that normal people living stand up lives as law-abiding citizens weren’t usually shot at, and they definitely didn’t refuse to call the police.
Letting out a sigh, I accepted that I’d have to tell her more. “I told you I knew he wasn’t quite right? Well, Pa knew it, too. It meant they weren’t as close as Pa and I were. That made Shane angry. When Pa passed, those emotions came to a head and a rivalry sprouted up overnight. One that’s been going on ever since.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh my God,” she said, her eyes wide with shock. “You’re part of the mob, aren’t you? The Irish mob? That’s a thing, right?”
I was so surprised that I actually laughed. The mob? But I sobered up quickly, because in all fairness she wasn’t so far from the truth. A lot of the things we did were similar to the mob’s dealings, though I didn’t like the parallel any more than any of my guys would. I shook my head. “No, we’re not the mob.” I hesitated a half a second, then finally told her. “We’re part of rival motorcycle clubs.”
For a second, her expression just went blank, like she wasn’t sure what I was talking about. “Wait, what? You mean like all those romance novels?”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow at her.
She flushed crimson, then said, “I mean, I’ve heard they’re really popular right now.” She cleared her throat. “But that’s the same idea, right? A motorcycle gang—”
“Club,” I corrected instantly, a habit all of us had formed early on.
“Right, club. Anyway, you guys run your own business and have territory and stuff like that, right?”
Her big blue eyes looked so sweet, so innocent that I wasn’t sure what to say. Technically, yes, she had it right, but at the word romance I realized she probably had a pretty sugar coated view of what it meant to be part of a motorcycle club. And I almost corrected her, then I realized I didn’t want her to think less of me, so I said, “Yeah, like that. I lead the Lucky Skulls. Shane started the Irish Hounds in the hopes of taking over the territory. But he’s willing to do shit that we’re not—selling meth, running prostitution and trafficking, selling guns to criminals. It makes him dangerous. He needs to be stopped.”
She worried at her lower lip, the motion incredibly sexy despite her worried expression. “Okay. Okay.” She took a deep breath, then said, “Fine, no police. For now.”
For now, it was all I could hope for and it wasn’t nearly enough. If she decided she couldn’t trust me anymore, this was all going to blow up in my face. And bad. I worried she’d realize we didn’t just run a business. We ran a chop shop that disassembled and resold expensive, stolen cars. We sold weed and sometimes prescription drugs. Things that could get us in a lot of trouble with the cops. I didn’t think it made me a bad person, but I knew it didn’t exactly make me a good one either.
It’s all shades of gray, I told myself, and hoped I was a little lighter gray than Shane.
Chapter 12
Elle
The house was old. It creaked and groaned, almost snoring all on its own. Which sucked, because I really want
ed to sleep. Wanted to, but couldn’t. My body was exhausted after everything the last couple of days and all I wanted to do was lay back and close my eyes. But I couldn’t. Every time I did, I heard the creaks and groans of the house and the face of that poor, poor woman flashed before my eyes.
I’d insisted on changing out of her borrowed dress. I used the pretense of wanting something more comfortable to sleep in—it was a little tight in the chest area—but really I just couldn’t deal with the idea that I was wearing a dead woman’s dress. A woman I’d spoken to only a few scant hours ago.
Outside, the weather tried to snow, but only managed a barrage of noisy, staccato sleet. It pounded against the window of the unfamiliar room and just made everything worse.
I made a frustrated noise, shifting beneath the covers.
Ciaran’s house was really big. Huge, actually. Especially when you compared it to my worthless little apartment. It was like going from a Motel 6 to a five-star resort. The difference was so noticeable that you caught yourself just staring sometimes, trying to figure out if any or all of it was even real.
I was in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Not the master, though this one was large with a window to one side and a full-sized bed. There was no bathroom attached, but there was one down the hall a short way.
The room was decorated in soft, neutral colors and the bed was comfortable with fluffy pillows and plush bedding. I should have fallen asleep instantly. Except I was almost positive Ciaran hadn’t done the decorating. It had to have been his mother.
Could I not escape thoughts of the poor dead woman?
Sitting up in an effort to put her from my mind, I contemplated other things. Not that they made me feel much better. Ciaran had said he was in a motorcycle club. I had read a few romance novels in my day and while I usually preferred sweet romances or first love type stories, I admitted to having read some of the trashy, bad boy books, too. Sometimes a girl had needs, and I wasn’t interested in watching porn or anything like that. But smut? That was totally different.
In the books, the love interest was part of the club and was rough around the edges. He had a sexy dangerousness to him that drew the main woman in. It made for a great, thrilling read.
But real life? I wasn’t so sure.
Ciaran had clearly not wanted to tell me. Was that a sign that maybe he hadn’t told me the whole truth? Was it a hint not to trust him? Or was he just trying to shield me from the dangers of his life? That was usually the reason in the romance novels, but those were just stories. They were based on fantasies of lonely women like myself.
“But I want to believe him,” I muttered to the empty room as the sleet continued to pound against the window. The desire to believe him was the main reason I hadn’t called the police yet. I’d been thinking about it, debating it on and off since coming up here, but I hadn’t quite made the push to do it. Ciaran had said it wasn’t safe, and I didn’t know why, but I really wanted to trust him.
Sighing, I finally just threw back the covers and accepted that I wasn’t going to get to sleep. I got out of bed and decided to head downstairs to the kitchen. I could get some water, or maybe even check to see if there was some milk to warm up. My mother used to do that for me when I was a kid, adding in cinnamon and a little vanilla so it tasted wonderful. Not that that mattered now. I’d settle for anything that would help calm my nerves enough to fall asleep.
I saw a woman die today.
I shoved the thought aside, then padded out into the hall. I was wearing an oversized long-sleeved shirt. It was one of Ciaran’s, I was sure, which was why it was long enough to semi modestly wear as a sleep shirt for me. He was, like, twice my size.
Dressed in only that, I headed downstairs with thoughts of the kitchen and warm milk. Or tea. Tea would probably be better. But when I reached the first floor I noticed that the fire was still going strong and there was someone sitting on the couch in front of it.
I froze and for a moment was terrified. Had someone broken in? Was it this Shane guy? Had he heard me?
But I relaxed as I realized the firelight was highlighting his soft reddish brown hair and his pale skin. It was Ciaran. I sighed in relief. “Jesus,” I said, diverting from my route to the kitchen to head into the den instead. Ciaran jerked his head around, my voice startling him. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He took a moment to calm his breathing, then smirked at me. “Likewise. Couldn’t sleep?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about why, but I quickly decided that a little extra company definitely wasn’t a bad thing. “Nope. You?”
He shook his head. “Too much going on.”
I nodded, then curled myself up on the couch beside him. For a long moment, we just sat in silence. I watched the fire absently, watching as the flames licked at the half charred longs, sparks flying and crackling.
Finally, I said, “Are you sure about not going to the police?”
He looked over at me. I made a point to keep my gaze on the fire. I didn’t want to seem like I was questioning him, but at the same time I couldn’t shake that I hadn’t gotten the full story from him. Was this really all about who was their father’s favorite as a kid? Was that enough to kill someone over?
“Yes,” he said finally. “I am. I know it sounds wrong, but the police can’t be trusted.”
A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth. “But not all of them are in his pocket, right?”
“Sure, not all of them,” he admitted grudgingly. “But we don’t know for sure which ones are and which aren’t. We could end up calling the exact wrong person.” He paused, then added, “You know what that would mean, right?”
I thought about it a moment. Would it stall the investigation? Would they just not file the report? “No, I don’t.”
He took a deep breath, then let it out in a whoosh. “It would mean they’d have to blame this on someone else. Someone who isn’t Shane.”
Dawning realization hit me. They would have to blame it on someone else, and who would be the most convenient person? Ciaran. He’d been there that day. He knew her. He took her shotgun and her truck. It would be easy to frame him for the murder. And then he’d be stuck in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, knowing his mother would never get justice. “He’d use you as a scapegoat,” I finally said.
He nodded. “Yes.”
I bit my lower lip. This was such a mess. How did I get myself into this? I glanced sideways at Ciaran. I knew exactly how I’d gotten myself into this. A moment of being stupidly decent by saving a stranger’s life. Then I’d actually seen him, and that kiss…Yeah, it was definitely the hormones pushing me towards him rather than pulling me away.
But was that a good idea? Was that safe?
Probably not.
But whether it was smart or destined to get me into a world of trouble, I couldn’t help that I was drawn to him. And I couldn’t help that I didn’t want him to die or go to jail or anything else. Which meant I was going to have to trust him. Still, I asked, “Couldn’t we find the right people in the police to talk to? They aren’t all working for this Shane guy, right?”
Ciaran tensed and returned his gaze deliberately to the fire. I could tell he wasn’t thrilled with my suggestion, but he considered it. “Maybe. But we’d need to be sure of who we could trust, and make sure the police knew why we were hesitant in the first place. After all, cops tend to stick together.”
I could hear a natural note of distrust in his voice, telling me he didn’t like the cops regardless of whose pocket they were in. It made me frown, but I didn’t argue that he was right. Cops would believe other cops first, right?
“But we could try,” I pushed.
Ciaran sighed. He rubbed his hand across his face, then up into his hair, ruffling through the thick strands. Finally, he turned away from the fire and looked back to me. “Yes, you’re right. We could try. And…and we should. Ma deserves that.”
I felt something ease within me. We could go to the poli
ce and they could protect us from this crazy psycho and his goons.
But then Ciaran added, “But I need time.”
I blinked. “Time?”
He nodded, the intensity and urgency in his gaze unmistakable. “Yes. Time. A lot of things are going on right now, Elle. We’re not sure who to trust, but we know for sure Shane is after us. So give me time to get ahold of my guys, to see if they can give us some measure of safety. Give me time to figure out who the right people to talk to are. Can you do that for me?” I hesitated, but then he said, “I want real justice for Ma. She deserves that and so much more. She was the last person to give a damn about me.”
Something inside me melted. I was swallowed up by a sense of heartache, regret, sadness. But I realized something else. “That’s not true.” I reached for Ciaran then and took his hand in mine. I squeezed it, causing his eyes to widen in shock. What am I doing? I wasn’t sure, but I wanted him to know there were people in this world who still cared about him.
