Sons of Justice 6: A Painter Walks into an Irish Pub (Siren Publishing LoveXtreme Forever)

by Dixie Lynn Dwyer

  “Seriously? That’s insane,” Thylane said.

  “Well, they must be super fantastic in bed,” Merica said.

  “Oh God.” Thylane placed her palm to her forehead.

  Brazille chuckled. “Cool it, Merica, remember she’s not experienced.”

  “Well, then they might be the best men for the job. At least you’ll know that your first time will be satisfying. I mean if women are breaking into their homes just to ride their—”

  “Brazille!” Thylane stopped her.

  Brazille winked, and then Merica laughed.

  “Forget all that. I think that woman Cindy is just some nut case obsessed with them. It sounded like she stalks them,” Merica said. “Stack was pissed off. There has to be more to that situation.”

  “Well, I really don’t care. I certainly don’t need to involve myself with men like that. Besides, I have a busy week at work ahead of me.” She looked at Brazille, who gave her a wink.

  “Well, if those men are anything like most of the men around this town, then if they’re interested in you, it won’t be their last attempt to flirt,” Merica said.

  “You mean to get her into bed,” Brazille said.

  Thylane shook her head. That was definitely the last thing on her mind right now. Or at least she thought so until she looked over toward the bar and saw Pisces and Rusty watching her, and no sign of Stack. Had he disappeared to meet up with Cindy? Did he get annoyed and walk out? A bunch of thoughts went through her head, as well as feelings of jealousy, concern, and interest. She needed to stay clear of those men before she allowed an attraction to make her do something stupid.

  Chapter Three

  Yorkshire took a seat at the bar and hid his smirk. He was a man of many abilities and pulling off disguises kept him not only close to his enemies but also out of prison. He was looking for Franco. Franco was a scrambler who would help to organize secret meetings, get fake identification and passports for travel, and other things that most people couldn’t get. Yorkshire needed his assistance to set up a meeting with the one in charge of the latest theft. At first Yorkshire hadn’t been certain who it was, but then it became clear, and now he needed to set up a meeting to talk business with that leader and also secure more money and guns getting into his hands and those of his soldiers.

  His first surprise was that Franco could be frequenting Foley’s. That was pretty damn risky business considering some of these men still held loyalty to the IRA and were somewhat involved in international affairs. Second was the sight of one very sexy, classy brunette painting some sort of mural on the wall while people drank and watched. He wondered how she concentrated but then noticed the ear buds and how she didn’t even respond when someone went by and commented.

  He waited not so patiently for her to turn around and let him see what she really looked like. Ugly, plain, unappealing to the eyes, but her work stunning and mesmerizing? Rarely did anything or anyone interest him to the point where he stared. This woman did. From her firm, round ass, the hint of skin he saw as she reached up higher, and the way her arm moved with each stroke, he found it all so therapeutic and relaxing. His mind began to wander. Who is she? Where did she come from? What was she painting? Was she as beautiful as her body appeared to be? Turn around for me. Let me see your face. He started to obsess over her. This wasn’t good. This was unexpected.

  He took a slug from his beer and caressed the false beard on his chin and watched her. He wasn’t the only man who did so. When she stepped up onto the small stepladder and leaned forward to paint what appeared to be a person’s face, he looked over her body. The firm, round sexy ass, the thin, long legs in spandex, and her tanned bare skin of her back. Was that a tattoo along the side?

  His whole body reacted, and that wasn’t like him at all. Yorkshire was in awe of her beauty as well as her talent as he waited not so patiently for her to turn around. When Mitchim Foley walked into the room with Franco, he kept his cool and watched for an opportunity to follow Franco out. But then Mitchim spoke to the painter. She turned, smiled, and Yorkshire smirked to himself. She was a damn beauty and then some. Holy shit, her smile lit up the room, her beauty breathtaking. His interest skyrocketed out of nowhere. Fuck, this was risky. Mitchim reached out, offering his hand as she stepped from the ladder, and he winked. Yorkshire felt the interest, the desire. Perhaps holding out for a little while would be best. He could see this woman create her masterpiece. As Franco walked by, he gave him a little nudge. Franco grabbed onto him.

  “Sorry, lad, didn’t mean to do that,” Franco said.

  “Friends don’t fight over petty pushes. They buy a round of beers and bullshit about Kinsale,” he whispered, and Franco squinted his eyes, but Yorkshire turned toward the bar.

  “Pat, another one for my friend here and one for me,” Franco said, joining Yorkshire.

  Everything would work out just fine, and he would get that sit-down with Merritt Hopper and get his money, too, for taking out all those men and leaving no one alive.

  * * * *

  Finlin sat at the bar in the corner, out of sight, and blending in in his disguise. His eyes were glued to Franco, a man he actually knew. The last thing he expected when following him earlier was him coming to Foley’s. Pisces was going to have a fucking shit-fit when he found out. Finlin hoped that Mitchim wasn’t involved somehow with the killings of these federal agents and other businessmen. But he wouldn’t put it past these crazy Irish soldiers. Their vendettas ran deep and were centuries old.

  From where he stood, he had a good eye on the place and tried seeing if he could pick out anyone in disguise or who was on his list of people who were acquaintances to Yorkshire. Finlin knew that Franco dabbled in a lot of shit and nothing that he ever got caught doing. He held his position and then changed it up when he didn’t see much of anything on the other side. What he hadn’t expected, and what nearly had him faltering in his steps, was the sight of a gorgeous brunette, standing on a small stepladder painting some sort of mural while the music played and the people watched. When she turned around to grab something, his heart hammered in his chest, and he felt the concern. Thylane? What the fuck is she doing here?

  It took him a moment to organize his thoughts and remember that he was in disguise and working under cover. Franco went right past him and bumped into some guy, and then Finlin locked gazes with Thylane, and he smiled at her.

  She stared up at him, seemingly caught off guard at his size and how close he stood.

  “That’s some mural you’re starting. How long will it take you to finish it?” he asked, absorbing the scent of her perfume and staring into her green eyes. He eased into the Irish brogue with perfection, despite the years of trying to get rid of it. His gut clenched, and he had a feeling this mission was going to turn into a fucking nightmare. But Thylane’s beautiful green eyes ceased those thoughts and he was instantly mesmerized by them and her voice.

  She squinted at him and then pulled the ear buds from her ears. “Sorry. What did you ask me?” She asked and he chuckled then repeated the question. She stared at him a moment too long and he wondered if somehow she recognized him. Then she responded with a smile.

  “Not sure. A couple of weeks probably.”

  He wasn’t happy about this. Two weeks in a place like Foley’s, surrounded by men like Franco, Pat, Mitchim, and the crew of men. All pretty good men, but still not on the up and up. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Well, it’s impressive already. Good luck.” He glanced back toward the bar, and the guy Franco had bumped into gave him a dirty look. Like he was pissed that Finlin talked to her. Was that some guy she was seeing or just one interested in her? Holy fuck. He walked away, leaving her there watching him and then going back to work, but not before he took a better position and got a few shots of the guy with the beard at the bar and Franco. Except, as Franco spoke to the guy, the guy’s eyes remained on Thylane, and there wasn’t anything he could do. He was here for a reason, and that was to locate Yorkshire
O’Malley. Nothing more.

  * * * *

  Thylane stood back and looked at her work. It was coming along pretty well. The headphones did wonders for blocking out the crowds and the noise so she could concentrate. When she felt the hand on her hip and a large figure behind her, she tightened up and turned and locked gazes with Mitchim, who was staring straight ahead.

  “I love it, lassie. It’s brilliant.”

  She stepped from his hold, and he squinted at her and then looked back at the painting.

  “I can’t believe how real my grandfather looks. The eyes alone are mesmerizing. I think even better than the picture we had.”

  “That’s good then. The picture was old, and I was glad that you knew his eye color and had something to compare it, too. Once I get him completed, then the rest of the mural shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Well, take your time. We love having you here, and to be honest, business is booming this week. We have more people coming to watch ya paint. You really are talented.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How come you don’t do this full time?” he asked.

  “I can’t yet. Not enough exposure.”

  “Well, this should help ya.”

  “I hope so.” She gathered up her things.

  “Shall we cover it up?” he asked.

  “Your call, unless you think people want to view the work in progress?”

  “Now that’s an idea. They’ll come back night after night to see your fine work and the new additions. Maybe I’ll tear down the wallpaper and paintings on the other walls and have you do the whole place. That way I can keep ya to myself and try to convince you to have drinks with me,” Mitchim said, and she chuckled.

  “I don’t think so, but thank you for the compliment.”

  He placed his hands over his heart.

  “You’re breaking my heart, Thylane. Help put a smile on me face and say yes to a drink.”

  She loved his brogue, and he sure was an attractive man with wide shoulders, big muscles and a hardness about him that alerted her feminine instincts that he was sexy but a complete flirt.

  “No can do. I need to get going. I have an hour’s drive home.”

  “One drink. Come on.” He called out to Pat and then to the crowd. “Don’t ya all think Thylane deserves a drink after her hard work on that mural today?”

  Everyone cheered. Her eyes locked onto the guy who stopped to ask her how long it might take her, and he gave her a nod. She shyly looked away, her eyes landing on another man with a beard and dark eyes and who appeared to be just as attractive and muscular as the other guy.

  Mitchim took her arm and brought her to the bar, and the guy next to the one with the beard and dark eyes got up. She took the seat, and Pat placed a mug of beer in front of her.

  “To another fine day of impressive work, beauty,” he said, and they all cheered.

  She lifted the mug, smirking and shaking her head, but then took a sip and listened to the Irish music play as Mitchim was called away to help with something.

  “What exactly are you creating over there?” the guy with the beard and dark eyes asked her.

  The man next to him, Franco she believed his name was, just stared at her. She got an uneasy feeling but didn’t want to be rude.

  “It’s a mural of Mitchim’s grandfather, then around it will be scenery from his hometown in County Cork.”

  He stared at her, eyes sort of squinted. “Ahhh, County Cork, a beautiful place indeed. Kinsale in west Cork is a lovely place. Small villages, coastal scenery, and sandy beaches. I’m sure a woman as talented and lovely as you would be able to find numerous scenes to paint.”

  He held her gaze.

  * * * *

  Yorkshire stared at the beauty before him. She was stunning, yet shy, oblivious to her beauty and her effect on all these men gathered around her. She thought they all were interested in her paintings, but it was more than that. It was her beauty, her sexy figure, the classy style she emitted, and the scent of her that did them all in, including him. His mind was swirling with ideas, with fantasies and planning, always planning his happiness, his satisfaction. He was here for a reason but also believed in fate. Fate might have dropped Thylane before him as a gift to his hard work, his successes, and to what would be a final mission before settling down for a spell until things cleared. Perhaps with Thylane in his arms and in his bed. He couldn’t stop staring at her eyes or inhaling her scent. When she spoke, she spoke with ease, calmness, and sincerity. She was innocent, clueless to the violence and negativity, and he wanted that. Needed to embrace it, hold that beauty because everything else in his life, in his world, was violence, blood, anger, and evil combined.

  When he started to get that anxious, desperate feeling, he slowed his breathing and gave her a small smile as she spoke.

  “It sounds beautiful. I’ve never been to Ireland but heard there is some amazing scenery.” She took a sip from her mug of beer. The foam landed on her upper lip, and he stared at it. Thought about kissing it away and pressing his mouth to hers and tasting what would surely be delicious as he held her hands behind her back and she submitted to his control. She shyly looked away, wiping her mouth, and he found her to be even more appealing because she was shy, submissive, the way a woman should be. So many ideas began to form in his mind. It had been so long since he engaged in one of his obsessions. Could Thylane be it? Could she be the one to take away with him once he finished these last few jobs?

  He reached out and stroked her arm. She turned to look at him. She seemed intimidated. Good.

  “You’re very talented, Thylane. The name’s Donnelly,” he said and reached his hand out for her to shake. When she did, he felt the fire fill his belly. She affected him. “How long have you been painting?” he asked her and then placed his hand on the back of her chair, blocking her in.

  * * * *

  “Years,” she said and then put down the beer, it not really going down smoothly. This guy, who she initially thought was attractive, now gave her the creeps. When she felt his fingers caress her shoulder, she pulled away from him and gave him a look. He squinted.

  “Don’t be scared of me,” he said to her. How odd was that?

  “Oh, I’m not,” she said, trying to act confident, but wondering if this guy might try something and would she need to use one of her defensive moves to counter his advances? She didn’t want there to be a problem here, and she glanced over her shoulder looking for Mitchim, her eyes locking onto the other guy with the beard, the tall, muscular, mysterious one. He seemed to be watching her, too. When she looked at him, had been next to him earlier, she didn’t feel anxious and nervous. He seemed familiar. That was so odd.

  “Good, Thylane, because I have a feeling we’ll be seeing one another again.”

  She widened her eyes at him wondering what he meant.

  He turned toward the painting, completely confusing her.

  “Your mural. It’s mesmerizing, as is your beauty.” He took a sip from his beer.

  A short time later, as that uneasy feeling began to build and build, she got up from the bar stool, prepared to leave.

  “Where ya going, lassie? The night is young,” Pat said to her.

  She smiled. “I need to head home. It’s a bit of a drive. I’ll see you tomorrow though. Have a good night.”

  Yorkshire stared at her. “See you soon beautiful painter.” He raised his beer toward her.

  She gave a soft smile. “Goodnight, Donnelly,” she said to him and then placed the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and headed out of the bar with multiple men saying goodnight and staring at her body.

  This sure was a different kind of place, but she liked it. The whole feel of it, the camaraderie amongst friends, the Irish-themed atmosphere, and the brogues. God, those brogues were pretty sexy, especially the one on that guy who’d spoken to her by the painting. Where had he disappeared to? She shook her head. The town of Ausberry was an hour from her home. Surely Mr. Right wasn�
��t here, but maybe Mr. Wrong was, and it would take just a freak encounter to get her to finally drop her guard and take a chance on romance. A glance back around her, and intimidation bubbled within. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t a one-night stand or temporary fling kind of woman. Her friends’ teasing was becoming mental bullying in her desperation to feel something other than struggle, fear, and an inadequacy because of her inability to find true love.

  Everything took time, but staring death in the face only a few years ago, and having to do what she’d done, made her feel like life was passing her by and she might never know what love is or what the feel of being protected, cared for, and taking care of was all about. Instead, she could only rely on herself and her abilities to put up a wall and be strong. She was a survivor, and survivors looked at life differently them most.

  She walked through the parking lot, the cool night air making her realize it was still winter and she needed her sweater. She unlocked her car, got her bag in the back, and then pulled on her sweater as she looked around the parking lot. It was habit, of course, but what she hadn’t expected was a feeling of uneasiness, like someone was watching her. She looked around her and saw no one except a few people smoking by the corner of the entrance to the bar and another set of people sitting on benches chatting.

  She got into her car, pulled her sweater tight, and then started it up. A glance toward the outside of the pub and she smiled. Maybe she would get lucky and someone from the Saggamore Gallery would go in for a beer or for those Irish egg rolls they were well known for and see her mural and love it. Maybe.

  * * * *

  “You’re out of your mind coming here,” Franco whispered to Yorkshire.

  “No one knows I’m here. I don’t need much from ya, Franco. Just a way to contact someone for a meeting and some information.”

  Franco looked at him strangely, and Yorkshire winked.

  “I got some heat on me. Can’t go walking into the asshole’s office in the middle of the day.”