by Fiona Keane
“Okay, well,” I thought out loud, “you can call the shop tomorrow. Emma’s opening, and she can fill out the order form for you. They’ll figure it all out.”
“I don’t think you quite understand.” Maureen released her hold on me. “I’d really value it if you could handle this business. I trust you more.”
“Um…”
She blushed; she was actually blushing. “I sense you have a different attitude than your friends. You don’t take no for an answer. You don’t cower. Do you?”
“I try not to.”
“Precisely. So, you’ll help me?”
No. “Fine.” I hate you, self. I know. I hate me too. “When is it?”
Maureen’s lips spread even wider, revealing more of her bright teeth. “Saturday morning. At ten.”
“Two days from now?”
“One of our drivers will collect you,” she pressed. “It won’t cost you a dime. Just be ready at, say, eight?”
Eight in the morning on a Saturday. With the entire Molloy family. And their guns. And teeth. Knowing that Elliott officially ended our independence by waving a white flag to those strangers, I reluctantly nodded while quietly brainstorming ideas for improving my resume on future job applications. Maureen leaned forward to kiss my cheek, surely leaving a deep red outline against my fair complexion.
“This is perfect,” she sang. I hoped that would be enough, even though she hadn’t yet given me her order, and that Maureen would let me continue walking to my apartment. She had other plans, naturally, and continued discussing her ideas for their uncle’s party. Maureen wanted two types of coffee, enough cinnamon rolls and scones to feed a small village, and everything needed to be the freshest it could be.
“He loves sweets.” She laughed. “So do my brothers.” Plural. Great. She could have multiple Julians roaming around Boston, waiting to pester girls like me. I wrote down what she wanted on my cell phone, making sure to include every detail so we wouldn’t disappoint.
“I’ve got it all. I’ll head in tomorrow night and make sure everything’s organized for Saturday,” I informed her, slowly stepping away as we approached my intersection. “Is there anything else?”
“Do you live alone, Miss Leary?” Maureen’s eyes scanned the buildings lining my intersection. I was surprised how far she walked in her heels. Somehow the snow gave way beneath her feet, protecting the piercing heels of her expensive stilettos. Wait. Alone?
“Y-yes.” I swallowed. “But the walls are so thin—everyone can hear everything in there.” There! Let that be a warning that you and your brother—brothers—can’t kill me.
She beamed, nodding at me before inching closer and pressing her lips to my cheek once more. It stung like venom, with an uncomfortable pulse beneath her skin.
“See you on Saturday.” Maureen nodded, blue eyes sparkling as they took on their own grin. I pretended to fumble with my keys, hoping to buy time so she would lose interest and walk away. She turned, waving at a black SUV to pull against the curb. A man, dressed in crisp black suit, climbed from the driver’s side and flew around the car to help her into the back. I tried to watch from my periphery, hoping nobody saw me take such an interest in her.
Chapter Six
My alarm clock screeched from its perch, reminding me it could be my final morning alive. I wanted to take advantage of the short time I had left, maybe even drink coffee and have ice cream for breakfast while watching the sun rise. However, I got out of bed and stood beneath the scalding water of my moldy shower. I had an hour to wash, shave, do makeup, and dress before Maureen’s driver would arrive.
I spent too long standing in my closet, eyeing the three dresses I owned. I was about to be amongst the elite, the corrupt, and the lethal. I needed to wear jeans and sneakers, but instead found myself wearing nude heels with a navy shift dress, carrying a cerulean cardigan around my shoulders. I left my hair down, pulled to one side by a long braid, and opted for natural makeup.
Grabbing my phone, wallet, keys, and coat, I glanced around my apartment one last time, thanking it for always being home and wishing it would be kind to the next tenant since I wouldn’t be returning alive. Not after a day with the Molloys. I took my time on the stairs, buttoning my coat every couple of steps, and froze with a chill as the cold January air blasted my face.
A black Range Rover rested at the curb, its tinted windows revealing nothing. I didn’t know if I should open the door myself or if I was expected to wait. This rich person shit is annoying. As I approached the car, I heard the driver’s door open, pulling the air from my lungs.
“Morning.” Julian smiled as he stepped from behind the wheel, his blue eyes hopeful. Hopeful? This guy was hoping I wouldn’t cause too many problems while he killed me. That’s all he was hoping for.
“You’re my driver?”
He nodded, his grin widening. “Maureen asked Vincent, but I didn’t think that was the best choice. He’s sort of intimidating. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.” Who the hell is Vincent? I bet he carries an even bigger gun.
“More intimidating than you?” I eyed him, my cheeks burning at my random confidence, watching him chuckle. That sound is too sweet to come from such an arrogant person.
“Probably not.” His gaze met mine. “So you do still find me frightening? That’s a shame.”
“I never said I found you frightening.”
“So you don’t?”
“I don’t what?”
“You don’t find me frightening?” Julian started to walk around the hood of the car, his hands bare against the bitter wind while he opened the passenger door.
“That depends.” I looked up at him, frozen when his hand left the pocket of his coat and delicately rested against my arm. He’s touching me. His hold was too kind, too gentle to kill me. Maybe that’s his game.
I questioned if I had a sign floating above me that informed all Molloys they could touch me. Maybe one of his brothers isn’t this scary. Oh my God.
“What’s wrong?” Julian’s face tipped, eyeing me with pursed lips. Stop looking at his lips, Aideen.
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Let’s get this over with. I need to make one thing clear, though.”
“What’s that?” Julian grinned, chuckling at my words again. I slowly wiggled from beneath his hold, grabbing onto the car as I spoke.
“You’re not going to kill me today.”
Julian’s eyes widened with mirth, humored by my accusation and demand, and I was hypnotized with the methodic lick of his lips before he responded.
“No, Miss Leary.” He bit his top lip in thought, his eyebrows raising. “Not today.”
I could only hope he was honest that one time in his life, but I looked nostalgically at my home one last time, wishing it a happy life and hoping my death would be painless.
Julian’s hand was again at my side, guiding me into the passenger seat. While I settled in, his hands found mine against the buckle.
“I can do this,” I whispered, disturbed by his comfort with proximity. Inches from my face, Julian’s eyes studied me while his lips twisted into a smile.
“I’m entirely aware you can care for yourself, but I’m also a gentleman, so I’m going to buckle you in and ensure you’re safely tucked away. It’s a long drive.”
The seatbelt clicked, signing away my existence, and Julian quickly joined me inside the car. I leaned into my door, hoping to create distance from the man and his intoxicatingly comforting cologne that spun around me in the warmth from the heating vents. I watched the Boston skyline disappear as Julian merged through traffic and onto the freeway. Please don’t bring up Malcolm. Please.
“Mr. Molloy, we need to stop at the shop to collect the coffee and baked goods.” I interrupted the silence.
“No, we don’t. My sister arranged for someone to collect it. You’re stuck with just me now.” Lovely.
We traveled northwest, heading toward Cambridge by the time my neck stiffened and the black spots app
eared behind my eyes. They flashed, slowly pulsating orbs of disturbance. My head fell into my hands, hoping gravity and pressure from my fingers would force the incoming pain to subside.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Julian questioned, his right hand grazing my shoulder, forcing me to flinch away from him.
“No,” I groaned in a whisper, pulling my face up and looking out the window, my eyes blurring with the passing views. Of all the days to get sick. Of all the moments to let down my guard, please let it be while locked in a car, alone, with Julian Molloy and his damn gun.
“Is it your head, Miss Leary?” Julian questioned, his voice almost kind. I nodded, not wishing to respond with words, not wanting to give him any information about me. Who was I kidding? He knew where I lived, he knew where I worked, he knew everything. I was sure of it.
“How long have you suffered from headaches?”
“What do you care?” Yikes. I’m asking to be mutilated before he kills me.
The car filled with Julian’s laughter, each chuckle taking away a piece of pain and calming my mind. “I care greatly about all of my business relationships.”
“You’re very kind.” I glared at him. “This business relationship has had migraines for months. Thanks for caring.”
Julian’s hand brazenly drifted to my bare knee, the warmth of his skin sucking the pain from my body, eradicating it from my mind. Damn wizard.
“I hope you know,” he whispered, eyes focused on the road, “I do care. About you, Miss Leary.”
What? “Aideen.”
“I do care about you,” he repeated, his voice low, “Aideen.”
I pulled away my knee and crossed my legs, hoping to gain what little distance I could in that car. I looked out the window, silent. His words terrified me. Julian’s attempt at flattery, hoping to control and weaken my resolve, warned my heart of terror. His witchcraft, the mysterious way he destroyed the pain in my mind, frightened me more than his gun. I sat in silence, but all I could think about was Julian Molloy sitting next to me and probably driving me into the side roads of hell with his charming smile.
I thought he might ask about Malcolm and the night they both followed me. I couldn’t go there. Allowing my mind to go anywhere near Malcolm, or even that night, would surely lower my guard. I would fall victim, caving in an instant. Give yourself more credit. You’re not a coward, not a damsel. You’re Aideen. You’ve gone through hell and risen like a phoenix. I glanced at Julian, watching his face transform with thought while he drove, and looked back out my window. Don’t go there.
The car slowed as Julian turned a corner, and we rode along a gravel drive.
“This is one of the homes my family owns,” he informed me before leaning out of his window to enter a passcode at the gate. “Naturally, I’ll need you to sign a few documents when we enter.”
“Naturally,” I mocked, biting my tongue. It didn’t matter. I am going to die anyway. I watched in awe as Julian bit his bottom lip while grinning at me with a shaking head.
“I’m glad you find me amusing.”
“You’re adorable, Aideen,” he said before returning his gaze to the windshield and clearing his throat. “There aren’t many people who speak to me that way and get away with it.” And now I’m really going to die.
“I hope you gave them a peaceful release.” I sighed, staring at the gate, its spiraled and intricate beams parting so we could continue toward the massive stone building ahead of us.
Silence was his only response, reminding me I was close to stepping on a nerve, if I hadn’t already severed it with my heels. The gravel drive was lined with barren magnolia trees waiting for the warm release of spring so their naked branches could flourish. The circular drive that encompassed the space directly outside of the house was lined with luxury cars—and now Julian’s Range Rover.
I nervously twisted my fingers in my lap as Julian pulled his key from the ignition. We sat in a silence so dangerously loud that I was sure Julian heard the blood anxiously pumping in my veins.
“Aideen,” he whispered, his eyes focused on the windshield. “It may be cute when you demonstrate your confidence around me, but it’s in your best interest if you speak to nobody inside.”
“Not even you?” My question was muffled through the cloud of fear tickling my throat. He can’t possibly think I’ll be thrown to the wolves with this headache and last.
“I’ll introduce you to their housekeeper,” Julian muttered before climbing from the car. He swiftly walked around to my side, opening the door and reaching for my hand, but I refused, keeping it tightly stuffed into the pocket of my dress. Julian watched me, his eyes narrowing as I climbed from the car and joined him, albeit several feet away.
“Do not make a scene,” he commanded in a whisper.
“Take me to the housekeeper, Mr. Molloy.”
Julian’s heels turned, promptly guiding the way from our parking spot along the circular drive toward the house. He hesitated at a small slate path and tilted his head. “The help goes in the back.”
“Excuse me?”
He couldn’t possibly be serious. The help? They hired me, no—they forced me to provide their coffee and baked goods for some geriatric gun-yielding uncle, who could probably still kill me, and they considered me so far beneath them?
“I see that you do care,” I muttered, praying he hadn’t heard.
I didn’t know who Julian thought he was with his attitude, his shiny gun, and his contradictory statements of support. Why did I have to close on Thursday so stupid Maureen could track me down? What was it about me that had these maniacs so enticed?
“That mouth of yours.” He laughed, lowering his head to hide the smile. God, he is so arrogant I’m going to puke all over this crisp white snow and certainly ruin this brunch.
Julian’s left arm lifted, motioning toward the path I was meant to take so I could enter with the help. He guided me, my heels filling with chilling speckles of snow on the unplowed path.
Julian rang the bell as I stared up at the stone walls, amazed at the craftsmanship and detail going into each carving around the heavy wood door. Window boxes were arranged in the four windows separated by the door, their nests filled with plumes of ivy and red blossoms.
“Are those real?” I inquired, nodding to the flowers. Julian’s throat cleared, his attention having been elsewhere.
“Mr. Molloy,” an elderly woman called from the door, holding it open so wide that heat from indoors rushed out to me, enveloping me in a warm hug.
I could already smell the interior, sweet and savory herbs and spices that had generations to brew. It was hypnotic, enticing, just like Julian’s cologne. Jesus. Stop.
I shifted my feet, unsure of what to do, and stared up at Julian. His hands were tucked away in the pockets of his wool coat, and his body was rigid. He seemed assertive, entirely in control, perhaps too comfortable with authority.
“Mrs. Lochlan, this is Aideen Leary,” he informed the woman as her soft blue eyes scanned the length of me.
“The babby with the coffee.” She chuckled, nodding. “Right this way. Vincent had the supplies brought over earlier this morning. I’ll take you to them.”
As she took my shoulder, guiding me in from the frozen air, I turned my head. For some strange, uncomfortable reason, I assumed Julian would be standing at my side or behind me, like a gentleman. Why? You didn’t even want to be there. You don’t want to be around him more than necessary. Right. However, and as terrified of Julian as I became, he was the only person I sort of knew, and I was about to step into his family’s house, further signing away my life to something I knew nothing about.
“Babby.” The woman repeated her term of endearment or mockery. I wasn’t quite sure what it meant or why she kept calling me that. I had no other choice but to follow her into the kitchen. It was pathetic of me to assume Julian would enter with the help, even though he delivered me like some special package. I was anything but special.
“
I’ll take you to the goods,” she said, her short arms waving around with her words. “You’ll be—” Her words were cut off as she nearly bumped into the stiff body of an impeccably dressed man. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, a stack of papers clutched in his hands, and his stoic expression narrowed on me. And here is Death.
Swallowing, I tore my glance from his steel blue eyes and looked at the woman who, surprisingly, hadn’t introduced herself. I wondered if anonymity was the Molloy way—although they made it clear they intended to stalk me, but maybe that was purely unwarranted intimidation.
“Mr. Ferrell,” she gasped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
That Ferrell character barely responded, but for shoving the stack of papers into my chest. So kind.
“Sign these before you go anywhere else,” Ferrell grunted, a thick Irish accent oozing from his mouth, his lips barely moving. I held the stack, nodding at him before he released his hold.
“Should…do…um,” I stammered, glancing between the two. “Where do I read and sign these?”
“Right where you are.” He spoke with such a lack of emotion that I imagined the ten thousand ways I would end my own life if I was ever stuck on an island with him. Right. So…in the middle of the kitchen, I’ll review these papers and pay close attention to every detail for which I am signing. I looked at Mrs. Lochlan, hoping she would internalize my plea.
Her lips pursed into a pout, and a hand pressed on my shoulder. “Mr. Ferrell, at least let me take her to the table where she can focus on this.”
“No.”
“Sir,” she pleaded. “She won’t know what she’s signing if she can’t—”
“I don’t care, Mrs. Lochlan,” he snapped. “Read. Sign. Now.”
