I reached for my clothes and started to get dressed, “Well my dad isn’t here, is he?”
“Alana, I don’t want you to think I just used you, trust me, but I’m so much older than you, and I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
So that’s it, he’s older than me, fucks me and then cops out? I tried suppressing the feeling of hurt that threatened to surface, and took a deep steady breath, “I’m not a kid Irish, I know exactly how men are and what they want. At the end I guess it’s my choice who I have sex with.”
I will not cry, I will not feel a thing. It was sex, and that was it, I told myself as I got dressed, barely sparing Irish a glance. With my back against him I asked, “So how old is much older?”
“Forty-two,” he said.
WTF, I thought he was in his thirties, “Oh, well if it helps you don’t look forty,” I mumbled and then crawled out of the tent. Irish never followed.
Irish
What the fuck just happened? I thought to myself as I flopped back down on the sleeping bag, wearing only my jeans. I just fucked Fergus’ daughter, who I might add, is only twenty years old, I’m fucking twice her age. Hell, I could be her dad for god sakes! Talk about a bloody lack in judgement. The worst is I would do it again and again. Having had her now, I realized that my desire for her is far from being satisfied. She haunted my mind all the fucking time and nothing I did or try could make it go away. Earlier when we were nearly caught by the Bronx Raiders, I was terrified that I would lose her before I even got a chance to get to know her. Fergus did a good thing not getting her too involved with his life before now; otherwise every fucking prick on the staff would have wanted a piece of her. I stretched my hands back behind my head and stared up at the green canvas top above me. I could still feel my dick twitching in my pants, ready to go at it again and again. Her tight pussy was right outside this tent, but I’ve complicated shit enough to know better. Frustrated with myself I sat up and rubbed my hand over my face. My beard had grown and right now, I’m sure I looked my age despite what she said.
Through the opening in the tent I watched her; she was sitting by the fire, holding a stick in the coals. She didn’t look twenty, maybe twenty five. She was mature for her age, with curves in all the right places. Her red hair pinned on top of her head, reminded me of Celtic goddess, pure and untainted, until now anyway. Now she was brandished by me and I wasn’t proud of myself at all.
Somewhere between the Cabin and the Campsite I had fallen for her, and it was probably the worst mistake I could have made. All my life, I never once bothered to find love, to me it was just another way to add shackles and imprison a man. Women wanted dedication; they wanted you to sacrifice everything in the name of love. And after what had happened to Brianna, Fergus’ wife and Alana’s mother, I would never have considered putting my heart on the line like that. For me, going to night clubs and sex clubs was enough. Satisfy my body and mind and leave my heart out of it, but now I wasn’t so sure about that anymore. If anything had to happen to Alana, I would only have myself to blame.
I wondered what was going through her mind this very minute. She had been a virgin, and I was sure that she hadn’t planned on losing her virginity to a criminal, but yet she begged me to fuck her. She wanted me as much as I wanted her as much as I still wanted her.
A short while later, Alana came back into the tent, her skin glowed from the heat of the camp fire but her eyes were cold and distant.
“Everything okay?” I asked as I shifted up for her to lie down.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she said in a slightly pitched tone.
She lay down with her back against me, and for a second I wanted to pull her into my arms, but maybe this was a better idea. If I show her any form of endearment, she might take it up wrong, but if I can get her to dislike me, we won’t have any of this happen again.
“Irish,” she whispered, her back still against me.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she sighed.
Confused I perched myself up on my elbow and studied her, “Thank you for what?”
She turned and looked at me and hooked her one arm behind her head, while she rested her other arm on her stomach, “Well if we end up dying, at least I would know what sex is like,” she said staring straight up.
“Alana, there’s much more to discover, and I am sure once this is all over, you’ll be discovering all these things with a guy your age.”
She huffed, “Guys my age, couldn’t possibly know what a woman wants.”
“And I did?” I asked raising a brow.
She didn’t answer me, simply turned back on her side, and whispered a quiet goodnight.
Before dawn I was up and getting ready to move, I let Alana lay in a bit; as I was sure she had as rough a night sleeping as I had. By the time I cleared the campfire and covered it with sand and leaves, she was awake. She stretched as she crawled out of the tent and my cock responded instantly.
“Good morning,” she said and smiled then walked up to me and planted a kiss on my cheek.
“Um-morning, sleep well?”
“Yeah, so what’s next?”
I could still feel her lips linger on my cheek and a rolled my shoulders, “Well I’m going to take down the tent, and then we’re going to head south-west to Mexico, We’re about three days away. If we leave now, we can get to Nashville by 7pm and stay the night. I have a connection there, so we won’t need to sleep under the stars again.
“Are we going to travel all the way to Mexico on a motorcycle?” she asked as she twisted her hair up into a bun on her head.
“Don’t know yet, will see what opportunities we are presented with.”
She shrugged and picked up a bottle of water then rinsed her mouth and spat the water out to the side, she was acting rather odd this morning, but I suppose she had enough time to think things over. Maybe last night was a good thing after all. She seemed a lot more accepting of her current predicament.
Federal Plaza—FBI Office—New York
“McCleary!” Agent Vincent called across the room.
“Yes sir?”
“So, I believe Irish was last seen with O’Devlin’s daughter, have you been able to confirm where they are headed?”
McCleary rubbed the back of his neck and then pulled out a manila file, “We suspect they are going south towards Mexico sir,” he said praying that Irish would get there long before the FBI did.
“I want people on the ground, everywhere. I want every border post covered, do you hear me?”
“Yes sir,” McCleary said and sat down behind his desk.
He had been an informant for the Labyrinths’ Cartel for over a decade. Fergus took good care of him, his wife Emily and their family, and now with the heat on Fergus O’Devlin, McCleary was starting to feel the flames licking at his ass. He had to somehow get a message to Irish without anyone sniffing him out.
He grabbed his badge, checked out his firearm and headed to his unmarked car parked undercover at the New York FBI field office. He knew his days were numbered, if the FBI didn’t catch on to his involvement with the mob, then the Bronx Raiders would. He had already spotted some of them in the city in fact; every dodgy character was a potential Raider who was out for blood. He had the evidence he needed to prove Fergus’ innocence in the drug bust, but there was no way he could get it to the necessary people without being suspected himself. As it stood, he was one hundred percent convinced that Agent Vincent was involved with the Raiders. He always seemed to know where Shamrock was, and never made any attempt to arrest him. There was always some excuse.
The clicking sound of footsteps echoed in the underground parking lot, he never noticed anyone else entering this level, which was mostly reserved for FBI vehicles. He stopped and ducked behind a concrete pillar, pacing his breathing. With his heart beating frantically in his throat he unlatched his 9mm and in the other hand he took out his private phone and sent a text to his contact in Nashville—The Cavalier is on stag
e. Then without waiting he took out the sim card, swallowed it and crushed the phone under his shoe.
Just then shots rang, two bullets missed him by mere inches above his head against the pillar. McCleary dropped and rolled for cover behind a white sedan. He knew he wasn’t going to make it out alive, and he was damned if he was going to be taken away and tortured for information. Lying flat on his back he looked under the cars, trying to detect any movement. The footsteps drew closer, almost calculatingly slow.
“I’m sorry Emily,” he whispered and then pulled the trigger.
Alana
We had been on the road for almost 8 hours straight, stopping only for gas and for me to stretch my legs. I wasn’t used to the discomfort of a motorcycle and the off-road detours we took to avoid tolls and road blocks made it even worse. But we finally made it to Nashville. The trip had given me enough time to try to gather my thoughts. I still hated my dad for hiding his secret life from me, but there was no more need to cry over it. The only thing for me to do now was to survive, and if I had to do this running for the rest of my life, then so be it. Irish mentioned at one of our stops that we needed to get to someone named Goose. The only person he apparently trusted, other than my father. As we weaved through the streets of Nashville, I took the time to reflect on a lot of things, one of them being Irish. The more time I spent with him the more infatuated I was becoming. Every time he looked at me I could feel my body responding and all I could think of was how he, well, how he fucked me. And sitting on the back of a droning motorcycle, I can guarantee you that nothing stayed dry.
Finally, we pulled up to a house that looked completely out of character with the rest of the surrounding houses. Grass and weeds had overgrown the garden, and the building itself looked derelict. It was more like a shack on its foundations. The paint had faded over the years, and the gutters were overgrown with misdirected weeds. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it to be a haunted house.
“Is this where Goose lives?” I asked.
“Yeah, come around the back,” Irish said and led the way.
He had once again parked the motorcycle out of view, and this time covered it with a withered tarp he found piled up in the corner near the refuse bins.
Since leaving the cottage, I haven’t yet had a chance to bathe or change clothes, I smelled like burnt wood, but even that could not dispel Irish’s scent that kept filing my nostrils every time I took a breath
“Do you think he’ll let me take a shower?” I asked nervously.
Irish chuckled, “Yeah, I think he’ll be okay with that.”
Irish knocked twice, paused, knocked twice again, paused again, and then rapped a few times. It was like a secret Morse code. The door swung open and a very scrawny, squint-eyed man stood before us, if he had one tooth in his mouth, it would have been too many.
“Irish ya ol’ basta’d!” the man said and flung his arms around Irish’s neck, “Ya takin ya wee time gettin’ ere ey boi!”
“Goose, fuck, am I glad to see you!” Irish exclaimed and patted his friend on his shoulder before turning to me. “This here is Fergus’ lass, Alana.”
The strange little man with the heavy accent came up to me and looked at me through narrowed slits, then pulled his glasses that were on top of his head down, “Well aint ya a wee sight for sore eyes lass! Com’n in, I bet ya’r tired after ya’r long ride from no’ere!”
“Hello,” I said tentatively as I shifted past the odd character giving him a slight smile. I am sure my dad would never have associated himself with the likes of Goose, but then I didn’t expect him to be part of the mafia either.
Goose and Irish caught up on good and bad times, talking away, while I sat counting my fingers and my toes. Half of the time I couldn’t even make out what Goose was saying with his heavy accent, but it was obvious that he knew my dad very well. From what I gathered, Goose was the go-to-man when anyone needed fake identities and passports, which was clearly why we were here. In a few days, we’ll be crossing the border to Mexico, from there to Brazil, the future looked grim but I couldn’t think of that right now. I had to focus on staying alive, figuring out where my dad was and have a goddamn shower!
I let out an exasperated sigh and stood up, setting my glass down on the rickety table, “Excuse me Goose, but do you perhaps have a shower I can use?”
“Aye! Lass, me noggin is playin’ up yer, Irish will show ya where it is,” Goose said and my insides flipped. Irish was going to show me the shower after what we did the night before?
“Yeah,” Irish said and his lips twisted into that same wicked grin, “Come on, it’s upstairs.”
I followed Irish up the stairs to the second level, half surprised that the stairs didn’t give way. With every step my insides twisted with a sense of excitement, which I obviously suppressed rather than act on. I had to keep it together.
“Goose has clothes that should fit you…”
“Oh no, no, no, I am not wearing…”
“Alana, he’s a good guy, trust me, and the clothes I’m talking about is from his days as a tailor, he used to be a proud man until he lost his son, give the guy a break.”
I sighed, maybe I was being too judgemental, and if Goose was going to help us get across the border I could at least show some appreciation. I followed Irish further to the bathroom, and surprisingly enough it wasn’t as dilapidated as I expected. It was somewhat worn but presentable enough. The enamel was chipped off the hand basin, and water leaked from the base of the faucet. The mirror had black patches of decay that showed years of moisture damage, but still useful.
I glanced around and saw a bath with brown stains at the bottom which I opted to pass and went straight to the shower.
“I’ll get the clothes,” Irish said, and before I could tell him to leave it at the door, he was gone.
I let out a sigh and leaned with my hands on the basin, tears pricked my eyelids. Exhaustion had suddenly washed over me like a heavy layer of wax, dragging me down into oblivion. My butt ached in places I did not know existed; my back was hurting, even my shoulders felt like I had done at least three days of weights without stopping for a break. I looked up in the mirror and shook my head. How the hell did I end up here?
“I thought you’d be in the shower by now.”
I gasped and spun around, pressing my hand against my chest, “God do you have to sneak up on me like that?”
Irish laughed, “I did no such thing lass, and you were miles away there for a second.”
I shook my head and closed my eyes, “I’m just tired, it’s been an eventful few days.”
Irish placed my clothes on the small compactum standing against the wall and then pulled me into his arms. Why was he so goddamn nice? I thought as I rested my cheek against his chest. Why could I not have met him at a normal bar as a normal guy who worked a 9 to 5 job? Overwhelmed by my emotions I fought against the tears that suddenly felt like they were just too many to hold back.
Irish pressed his lips against my hair and I could feel his arms tighten around me, “We’ll get through this, I swear to you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
I sniffed, and clutched at his shirt, “I have no idea what’s going to happen to me Irish; I’m a fucking lost lamb in the wilderness with a bunch of wild dogs after me.”
Overnight I’ve gone from twenty to thirty. College was no longer a favourite pastime, I suddenly felt years beyond my age. I couldn’t even remember what it felt like going to the movies with my friends, or hanging out around the cafeteria at break. It was almost as if that entire part of me was one big silver screen movie and reality had suddenly dawned.
Irish cupped my face with his hands and he looked into my eyes. With his thumbs, he swept the tears from my cheeks, “I’m in that wilderness with you, trust me, we’ll get through this and when we do, you’ll be back at college doing what you love.”
College… what if I didn’t want to go back to college, what if I just wanted you in my life, I thought, but
instead I nodded and turned out of his embrace.
“I’ll be right down,” I whispered and cleared my throat.
The soft click of the door behind me was like a switch, and I sank down against the wall sobbing silently. Things would never be the same, never.
Irish
A man had to appreciate Goose’s sense of humor, and although I never mentioned anything other than the fact that I was protecting Alana, Goose had given us our new identities as Mr and Mrs Muller. I was an insurance salesman, and Alana was a preschool teacher. Of course we had to change our identities too. To me a change was as good as a holiday. I was used to these temporary identity switches while working for Fergus. Changing my hair color and getting a new fashion style was nothing, but I suspected that for Alana the change would be a lot more emotional.
I flipped through the channels as I sat on the double bed in a motel room in Austin where we decided to check in for the night. There had been no sign of Shamrock’s men, and as far as I knew Goose’s boys were watching out for us, but that still didn’t mean we were in the clear. Fergus had made no further attempt to contact me and right now I was actually fucking pissed off with him. He didn’t deserve Alana as a daughter, and knowing that he was out there living the life, while we’re on the run was grating on me.
The bathroom door opened, and I turned to see what Alana had done to alter her image, but what I saw was completely unexpected and my brain seized to function as all my blood rushed to my cock. She was beautiful as a red head, but fuck me, with her hair pitch black and her brows tinted dark she looked like a gothic queen. I stood up and looked at her, unable to form a single word.
“So? Do I look like Mrs Sophia Muller?” she asked and shrugged.
Her hair was still damp but against her pale skin she looked like a sinister marvel waiting to take a man prisoner. The tight figure hugging red dress she wore made me want to lock her away for good.
Stranded: A Mountain Man Romance Page 47
