by Winters, KB
“I knew you Connellys were freaks, but I draw the line at watching me and Gio run a train on Boo here.”
“Get outta here,” I told her, and she nodded, big blue eyes wide and scared, only showing relief when she ran from the room with tears welling in her eyes.
“Frankie, Gio, good to see you assholes again. I thought this time we could fight face to face even though I know how much you pussies prefer the ambush method.”
Geo pulled himself up tall in a show of macho badass that wouldn’t even scare a school yard bully. “You’re making a big mistake. Right now we’ve only made shit uncomfortable for you, but do what you’re thinking now and all bets are off.” It was an amateur move that even made Eamon smile.
“You hear that, Shae? All bets are off.” Eamon threw his head back and laughed. “Well now you’ve gone and scared the hell out of us, right Shae?”
“Quakin’ in me feckin’ boots,” I said, tossing a little Irish on it for good measure.
My words pissed Frank off and he lunged forward, stopping only when his head met the butt of my nine millimeter hand gun. “Give me a reason to do it again.” Not that I needed a reason when it came to these assholes.
“What the fuck do you want?” Frank held the back of his head, snarling up at me from his knees.
“It don’t fuckin’ matter what they want,” Gio spat at his brother. “Dad said we don’t give them shit. Not ever.”
That answer didn’t surprise me at all. It would be my position if I were them. It was just too bad for them that what I wanted I’d just have to take.
“That’s understandable, but what we want is non-negotiable.”
As Patrick always told us, you can’t make a man not want more than what he has, which meant the only way to stop the Milanos was to end them.
Eamon’s phone buzzed and he picked it up. “Yeah? Shit.”
Gio smiled at whatever news was being delivered to my brother, but it didn’t last long.
“Yeah, grab him. I’m sure. Take him to the rendezvous point and wait for my instruction.” He closed the phone, crossed his arms and stared straight ahead, a clear sign we should pick up as if the interruption hadn’t happened. “Where were we?”
“You were enjoying your last moments on earth,” Frank spat out. He finally got the balls to stand up and face me.
I let out a loud barking laugh right in his face, feeling a fuck ton of satisfaction at the way his face reddened in anger. “I didn’t realize you moonlighted as a comedian. If you survive the night you might still be able to make a living.”
Gio said, “You have no idea what or who you’re fuckin’ with, Connelly. Leave now and we can forget this happened.” He was doing his damnedest to sound calm, relaxed. Not worried about a fucking thing, but fear was written all over his face.
“Two options,” Eamon said, his voice booming loud above the rest of us. “Get the fuck out of Rocket and stop trying to hone in on our shit, or die. Those are your options.”
“Fuck you,” Frank, ever the defiant one, practically snarled in Eamon’s direction.
“Sorry, Frank, didn’t hear you. Speak up,” I told him and pressed my gun to the soft tissue of his shoulder. I dug it into his flesh. “Say it again, dick licker.”
“Fuck both of you, leprechaun fuckers.” He laughed, eyes wild and crazy, and I knew this asshole was about to do some stupid shit. The next few moments unfolded in slow motion. Frank pulled a Colt 1911 from his shirtsleeve and aimed it, for some reason, in Eamon’s direction.
“No, fuck you, Frankie.”
My grip tightened on my Glock, and I squeezed the trigger, firing two shots into Frank Milano’s shoulder along with a little muzzle burn for good measure. Watching that shit stain drop to the ground and scream out in pain gave me nothing but pure pleasure.
“Fighting’s not so fun when you’re caught off guard, is it?”
All he could do was writhe in pain as blood spilled onto the pink and black tiled floor.
“Shae watch out!”
Eamon’s voice brought my attention back to the unharmed Milano with his Beretta trained on my chest. The sound rang out first, and I jumped to the left, stupidly thinking I could out maneuver the bullet, but of course I wasn’t fast enough. The goddamn thing sliced across my bicep, ripping open my sleeve and my flesh.
Gio laughed. “You should have shot me first, asshole.”
He turned toward the emergency exit just as Eamon called out, “The night’s still young,” and let off a couple rounds.
Gio hit the floor and scrambled along the wall in search of another exit, all the while shooting wildly into the air, forcing me and Eamon to duck and protect ourselves.
“You fuckers are dead,” he shouted, out of our sight.
The sound came from behind us, and I knew Gio was trying to make his escape. Luckily, we had men everywhere so the chances of him making it out of the club alive were slim.
“Seems like you need more time at the shooting range, Connelly.”
Gio laughed and wiped away the broken glass in his hair and clinging to his suit. The sound of bullets flying out front stole the rest of the laughter, and Eamon and I ran to the front of the club where our guys had put some lead into some Milano muscle.
None of them were dead yet, but unless they had a network that included access to doctors outside the walls of a hospital, plenty of them wouldn’t make it until morning.
“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” It seemed like the number of men inside the club had doubled since Eamon and I followed the Milanos to the champagne room.
“Probably crackheads from The Highlands.”
That would explain their poor choice of clothing.
“Everyone all right?” Eamon looked around the room, making sure the men who had shown up to do Connelly business were unharmed.
A chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘yeah’ and ‘yep’ sounded all around us and we both waited a beat to see if any of our men let out any grunts or groans of pain. When none came, a slow grin broke out on Eamon’s face.
“Frank’s not dead yet, but this night wasn’t a total bust.”
“It’s even better than you know. Shamrock found Lorenzo sniffing around outside the club, so we grabbed him.”
My eyes went wide with shock. “We got Lorenzo fucking Milano? The head of the family? Holy shit E-dawg, Patrick’s gonna die just to hand the reins over to you.”
We both laughed at that morbid thought because it wasn’t far from the truth. “Does he know yet?”
“Nah, I thought we could drop him off, kind of like those dead animals you used to bring into the house when you were a kid.”
God how Patrick hated that. “Remember how terrified he was that I might want to be a veterinarian instead of going into the family business?”
He’d had a fucking fit until I got into a fight at school, and he saw who I really was, according to him.
“He can’t react worse than that, right?”
“Let’s hope not.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ivy
Where was he? Hours had passed since Shae left his house and still, he hadn’t walked back through the door. That had to be a bad sign, didn’t it? If his Irish mob family’s plans had gone off with no problems, he’d be back already, which meant there was a problem.
My feet paced while my mind raced, conjuring up the most terrifying scenarios, each of which included more and more of Shae’s blood being shed. If he died I wouldn’t get to tell him that I loved him. The combination of stress, self-reflection, and a sense of adventure that was new to me, convinced me that I needed to tell him. And now that I’d started to get my courage up to tell him, he was late.
Maybe hurt.
Possibly dead.
If he was dead, I would kill him myself for depriving me of this moment. Damn him. Please, don’t let him be dead. Or hurt.
“Shit!” I said to no one.
I had to stop pacing, stop obsessing before I drove
myself crazy with wild scenarios that were getting more bizarre with every passing second. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do to change the outcome, so I marched across the vast living room to the bar near the window and picked up one of the big crystal decanters filled with whiskey and poured a healthy portion into a glass.
I gulped it down like it was a shot and poured another.
“Holy crap that’s strong!” The burn in my throat was exactly the distraction I needed.
The warmth slid down my throat and made its way through my body until I felt heated all over and my muscles started to relax. Too bad booze didn’t have the same effect on my mind, which continued to race, bouncing from one awful scenario to another.
Then I heard the sound of a key in the lock, the knob turning just as the front door opened. Instead of running to the door, I was rooted to the spot, empty glass in hand. I stared at the empty doorway and waited for Shae’s body to fill it.
I heard my name. “Ivy?” My heart stopped.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out, just a short gasping sound that should have been a greeting. It was three in the morning. I was fully dressed, pacing a lavishly appointed living room while waiting for the mobster who owned my heart to show up. Alive. Things were surreal and my voice had abandoned me.
“Ivy.” He appeared in the doorway looking masculine and bad and … bloody.
“My God, Shae! Are you okay?” My feet finally got the message to get moving, and I was in front of him, cupping his face and drinking in the sight of him, letting my eyes roam over every inch of him.
“Say something, dammit.”
His face split into a sexy simmering grin and his hands cupped my hips. “Worried about me, darlin’?”
“You’re bloody and your clothes are torn, plus you’ve been gone for hours.”
Shae let out a hiss of pain when I grabbed his arm. At the same time, I felt the sticky liquid under my hand.
“Shae!” Tugging him to the sofa, I pushed him down and hurried to find the first aid box I’d seen under the sink in the kitchen.
When I returned, I searched in the box for what I needed, peppering him with questions. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Shae looked up at me, worry shining in his green eyes. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Hell no, I didn’t want to hear it, but I needed to hear it. “Yes. I’m going to clean you up, and you can talk. Or not. Just tell me you’re okay.” The wound looked nasty but not life threatening, and I got busy cleaning and drying it.
“Butterfly bandages or stitches?”
He arched a raven brow, lips pursed in a knowing grin. “You can do stitches?”
“I raised a teenage brother in the age of limited healthcare. Of course I can do basic stitches. I can’t guarantee that it won’t leave a scar, but I can do it.” It would keep me occupied while hopefully he talked.
“Chicks dig scars, right?”
Even injured after going through what I have to assume was hell, the man still exuded a raw sex appeal that pulled me in, drugged me. and made me want to crawl into him.
“That’s what they say?”
“Do you dig scars?”
Our gazes collided and it seemed like he really wanted to know. “I hate that you got hurt, Shae. But I’m glad you’re all right.” The wound on his right bicep bled a lot but only took six stitches.
“Is all this blood yours?”
“Nope.” After a quick spritz of disinfectant, I taped some gauze over the wound and stepped back to look at Shae again. He was cool. Distant.
“Well, I’m glad you’re mostly unharmed.”
He was alive and all those worst case scenarios playing in my head were just stress. Anxiety. And that was another sign that I should keep my feelings to myself. This was not the life for me. It didn’t matter that I loved Shae because clearly he didn’t feel the same.
I cleared away all the bandages and ointments. “You need anything?” I asked, giving him a last check.
Just because he was pulling back didn’t mean that he wasn’t hurting from whatever had happened tonight. Whatever he might have had to do. If I could help, I would.
Shae stared through me, and I poured a healthy amount of whiskey into a glass before shoving it in his hand.
“Thanks,” he said, giving me an unreadable stare. I watched with worried eyes as he finished the drink in three big gulps.
I poured another, smaller drink and returned the glass to his hands. Our fingers brushed, and I held my breath just to make sure I didn’t react. I wouldn’t let myself react. If he was pulling back then that was my answer. I had to do the same.
“No problem.”
I had no fucking clue what to do to help him. This was his life. Surely he couldn’t be in shock, could he? No, that was just another excuse, when the most likely answer was that now that the danger was over, he was ready to end our acquaintance.
“What?” The word came out low and menacing, and I took a step back.
“Nothing.” His gaze lingered on mine but instead of heat and affection there was a distant blankness, a distinct lack of anything that resembled the man I foolishly thought I was in love with.
“Thanks, Shae. For everything.” I turned and paused on the bottom step of the staircase up to the bedroom. I fought the urge to just leave. I would leave and soon, but I didn’t have the money Shae’s family did. I couldn’t afford to replace all the clothes I’d brought over. Besides, what harm could another few minutes do? I raced up the stairs. Shae didn’t say a word.
I grabbed all my toiletries from Shae’s bathroom and packed away every item of clothing I could find. Whatever I left behind would be lost to me forever and that would have to be okay. I felt the weight of his stare before I saw him but I didn’t stop moving. I couldn’t.
“What are you doing?” he asked from the doorway.
“I’m taking a hint, Shae.” Screw folding everything neatly, I’d wash and iron them once I was back in my own damn house. “I’ll be gone soon enough.”
“I didn’t say you had to leave.” His voice was still hard and distant, there was nothing inviting about it.
“Not directly, no, but don’t worry I’m not the kind of girl to cause a scene.” Even when it was deserved, I never caused a scene because it wasn’t my style.
“This was always supposed to be casual.”
I wondered who he was trying to convince, me or himself.
“Right.”
I snatched a pair of earrings off the nightstand and tossed them into my bag.
“Seriously, thank you for protecting my brother.”
The closer I got to Shae, the harder it was to remember that this was goodbye. But this wasn’t the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. Top five, maybe, but not the hardest, so I closed the distance between us and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Shae.”
“There’s no reason we have to end.” The ‘yet’ was implied if not voiced.
“There’s a very good reason why, Shae.” And saying it would make walking away easier because he wouldn’t want to hear it.
His expression was pure skepticism, like there could be no possible reason for us to continue on as we were. “Yeah? Tell me.”
“You don’t want to know,” I assured him and hoisted the bag on my shoulder. If he wanted to push me then I needed to make a quick getaway after I said it.
“Tell me, Ivy.”
“Fine. We have to end this now because I fucking fell in love with you.”
He scoffed, clearly disgusted by the idea of my love. “Guess you’re not so different after all, Ivy.”
I flashed a sad smile. “Now that you know why I have to leave, have a nice life Shae Connelly.”
I walked away and didn’t look back, no matter how much I wanted to. Shae was a good memory and this way, he would stay one.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Shae
Love. What a crock of shit. I believed in love, b
ut I didn’t believe that Ivy was in love with me. It was gratitude at best, and if I wanted to be cynical as hell about it, her reasons were mercenary. Either she had some kind of hero complex or she thought hooking up with a rich guy would make her life easier.
Ivy didn’t love me. She couldn’t.
“Goddammit Shae, are you even listening?” Eamon’s loud voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see three pairs of eyes and the faces attached to them clearly annoyed. Patrick, Eamon and Conor all looked at me like maybe I was losing my shit.
“To which part? You haven’t stopped talking for the last fifteen minutes.” That much was true, but he glared at me anyway, knowing I hadn’t heard a word he said.
“What do you think we should do with Lorenzo, or are you too out of it to be part of this decision?”
“I think we should kill the motherfucker, but I know that’s not what Patrick wants.”
The man in question scoffed and blew out a big plume of cigar smoke. “I want him alive to see all of his progeny die before him. That’s the price he has to pay for trying to take what’s mine.”
The old man had been particularly giddy over the last thirty-six hours, having one of his greatest enemies at his disposal.
“Okay, so what? Do we torture him, beat his ass a little and dump him somewhere or what?” For what he did to me and to Ivy’s brother, if I couldn’t kill him, it didn’t matter what we did to the old fucker.
Conor clapped me on the back. “I like the way you think, cousin. What do you say about a little old fashion torture, Uncle? That would be a nice little gift, I’d say.”
Patrick smiled at Conor with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Save that glee for Lorenzo’s pride and joy, my boy.”
Bam. That meant we were nowhere near ending this beef with the Milanos.
“For now we’ll keep Lorenzo where he is.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Patrick?” Eamon was worried for some reason.
“Am I sure? As far as you’re concerned son, I am always sure.”
Eamon shrugged and turned away, a sure sign his patience with the old man was thin, and I couldn’t blame him.
