KILLIAN: The O'Donnell Mafia

by Zoey Parker

  “Oh, shit,” he said, pulling away from the hug.

  “What?” I asked, looking around, trying to see if we’d knocked over a candle in all of the excitement.

  “I forgot to pull out the ring. I left it in my pocket. You said yes to a guy without a ring.”

  I laughed. “I wouldn’t have said yes because of the ring.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a black box. When he popped it open, my mouth fell open.

  “I did good, right?” he said, overly confident.

  Normally I would have pretended not to like it as much as I did just to keep him from getting cocky, but with the huge, sparkly rock shining up at me, I couldn’t lie. “Yes. It is beautiful.”

  A large rectangular diamond sat high in the center, surrounded on all sides by smaller diamonds, all of which was set into a band with tiny diamonds embedded all the way around the band. If I wanted, I could have hung it from the ceiling and used it as a disco ball. The ring was overwhelming and gorgeous, and I began to cry all over again.

  “When did you do all of this?” I asked.

  Killian smiled and bit his lower lip, and I could tell he was debating whether he should tell me the truth or not.

  “Tell me,” I insisted.

  He sighed. “Remember when we got in that big fight because you said I was spending too much time at the bar?”

  I nodded, already wincing against what I was sure was about to be a huge wave of guilt.

  “I wasn’t at the bar. I was driving all over town going to every jewelry store I could find looking for the perfect ring.”

  I groaned. “I’m the worst.”

  He laughed. “Well, to be fair, I could have made up a less seedy excuse. I could have said I was at the library or the gym.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “I would have never believed that. I probably would have thought you were cheating on me.”

  He pulled me in for a hug and kissed my forehead. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It was all worth it. It got us here.”

  I pressed my cheek against his chest until I could hear his heart beating, my arm extended in front of me so I could admire the ring. “You’re right. No regrets.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Killian

  As soon as I told Dad the news, he insisted we have the wedding in the backyard of the big house.

  “I just had the landscaping guys in last week, but I can call them back. I’m picturing some nice flowering bushes along the back fence, and we can get an arch for you two to stand under. We’ll put it right under the oak tree. What do you think? Does that sound nice or does that sound nice?”

  I hadn’t imagined him being so excited, though I don’t know why. Since Niall’s death, the birth of baby Niall was the first time I’d seen Dad smile in months. A new member of the family, especially one who looked so much like the son he’d lost, was exactly what we all needed to lift our spirits after the crazy year we’d had. And Heather and I getting married simply ensured he’d always be able to see baby Niall.

  “I think it sounds great, but I’ll just have to check with Heather,” I said.

  “Good idea. You don’t want to start out your marriage with a fight. Better make sure she likes it first. She’s the boss after all.” He was talking fast, excitement buzzing around him like an energy field.

  In the end, we liked Dad’s idea best. The limited space gave us a good excuse to invite only the closest friends and family to the actual wedding, allowing us to keep the wedding small and private, something that was important to both of us.

  Heather wore a white silk dress with thin straps that flowed down her body like water. As she walked down the aisle, the setting sun glinted off of every curve, and I resisted turning to ask the minister if we could skip straight to the “I now pronounce you” portion of the wedding.

  Dad had really pulled through. With no direction from Heather or I, he’d ordered white wooden folding chairs for the guests, bought a lace aisle runner for Heather to walk down, and hired a three-piece orchestra to add an extra touch of “panache” to the day, as he liked to say. He’d also found a vintage wagon for Niall to sit in as he was pulled down the aisle as our official ring bearer, though I kept both rings in the inside pocket of my tux.

  The day was perfect. I’d never imagined I would have a traditional wedding—thinking instead I’d probably end up drunk in a casino chapel and begging for an annulment the next day—but I knew it couldn’t have gone any other way. I was meant to be standing at the end of that aisle waiting for Heather. My entire life had been leading up to that moment, and I’d never, for a second, had a clue.

  When Heather looked up at me, her eyes red and glassy with tears, and said, “I do,” I thought I would never be happier. Then, the minister announced her as Heather O’Donnell, and I was. Each new moment became the new happiest one of my life, and I had no reason to believe I’d stop feeling that way any time soon.

  ###

  Heather

  Despite the intimate wedding we’d planned, nothing could stop the entire compound from showing up for the reception. Free alcohol lured them in until the party overflowed into the front yard, down the driveway, and into the street. Music and booze and dancing made the event feel more like a music festival than the reception for an intimate wedding.

  However, typical of our family and friends, within two hours everyone was drunk enough that they barely noticed us, so Killian and I were able to slip in and out of the partygoers mostly unnoticed. Liam left the party early, taking Niall in his favorite new wagon.

  “You two enjoy yourselves,” he said, tossing a wink in Killian’s direction. “I’ll keep an eye on this little guy.”

  So, childless, freshly married, and surrounded by free booze, enjoy ourselves we did. While we were dancing next to the speakers, the bass booming in our chests, Declan ran over with as many tequila shots in his arms as he could carry. We all tossed one back. Killian shook his head as he swallowed his, and then stretched out his tongue to show everyone he’d finished it. Everyone around us cheered.

  By the third song, we were three shots deep, and feeling good. Killian couldn’t keep his hands off of me, running them up and down my sides, grabbing handfuls of my backside and pulling me into him, and trailing slobbery kisses down my neck. I played the part of the demure woman, turning my head when he went in for a kiss and sliding his hands from my butt up to my back, but when he asked if I wanted to go somewhere else, I grabbed his hand and practically ran from the party.

  Somehow, without discussing it, we both knew where we were headed. To the place that started it all. The shed in the back corner of the compound was hard to make out in the dark, but we fumbled our way there and walked to the back face of it until we were shielded by the wooden fence on one side and the shed on the other.

  Instantly, I was on my knees unbuttoning Killian’s pants. Though we’d had sex before, and plenty of it, something about that night felt different. Perhaps it was a mix of the tequila and our newfound commitment, but I needed him. I didn’t want a slow, romantic build-up. I wanted sex, and I wanted it rough.

  I took him in my mouth, and he leaned back against the shed, his head clanging against the corrugated metal, moans escaping from him. I swirled my tongue around him, left kisses down and then up his length, licking from base to tip until he began to quiver.

  Suddenly, his hands were in my hair, and he was pulling me up to him, lifting me to my feet. He grabbed greedy handfuls of my dress and lifted it up to my waist; at the same time turning me around and throwing me against the side of the shed.

  He reached for my underwear, and I delighted in the look of surprise and then hunger that crossed his face when he realized I wasn’t wearing any. Before I knew it, my legs were wrapped around his waist, and he was inside of me.

  With each thrust, I was thrown against the shed, and I reveled in the animal quality of it all, throwing my head back and doing nothing to quiet the torren
t of moans escaping my mouth.

  With his strong arms flexed around me, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my backside, and his huge length pummeling in and out of me, it was only a matter of minutes before I was on the brink.

  I buried my face in his neck, my hands grabbing at his shoulder blades and the sweaty curls at the base of his neck, and groaned with each thrust. Then, without warning, he sped up the motion until my entire body was vibrating against the shed and a release like nothing I’d ever felt flooded through every inch of my body.

  Killian seemed to be experiencing the same thing, his face contorted into a mask of pleasure and pain and relief, as we rocked together, pressing into one another as the last waves of bliss washed over us. A few minutes later we were sitting on the ground, me in my rumpled wedding dress, and Killian in his tux, the tie loosened around his neck, jacket discarded hours prior.

  “The last time we were here, I was afraid you were trying to kill me,” I admitted with a quiet laugh. “The whole walk over here I wished I’d brought a gun or a knife or something to defend myself with.”

  Killian chuckled, his face sleepy, probably from a mixture of the day, the alcohol, and the rigorous sex.

  “Our love story is not exactly common,” he said.

  “No,” I agreed. “Definitely not.”

  He reached out and grabbed my hand, rubbing his calloused thumb along my knuckles. “But it has been really good.”

  I looked up at him, at his silvery blue eyes, dark curly hair, the stubble along his chin that I begged him not to shave for the wedding no matter how many times everyone insisted that he should, and a warmth filled my chest. The wonderful thought that he was mine. That baby Niall and I, despite all of the craziness of the previous year and my worries that we would be alone in life, had such an amazing man to depend on.

  I bent forward and kissed him softly, our lips just barely touching before I leaned back against the shed and stared up into the starlit sky.

  “It has been the absolute best.”

  THE END

  Thanks for reading! Did you like my book?

  If so, you should join my mailing list!

  I’ll keep you up-to-date with the latest news on Zoey Parker releases, giveaways, and ARC opportunities?

  Click the banner or link below to join.

  New subscribers receive a FREE steamy short!

  http://dl.bookfunnel.com/22mfxgmiow

  GUNNER: The Immortal Devils MC

  By Zoey Parker

  IN AND OUT, IN AND OUT… AS FAST AS POSSIBLE.

  That was every good thief’s mantra – and I was the best.

  But I was no match for Gunner Kaye.

  I tried to steal from him.

  In return, he’s about to take everything from me.

  I should’ve known better than to lie to him.

  With eyes like his – piercing, perfect, impossible to resist – I was powerless.

  I couldn’t say no to that body.

  To those hands.

  So powerful.

  So capable.

  But I tried anyways.

  He had everything – power, money, ambition.

  I had only my body and my wits.

  And when I failed, he took them from me.

  But oh, God, the way he did it was the best kind of torture.

  His tongue was his whip.

  His words were his chains.

  His mind was his maze.

  And I’d be happy to stay stuck in here forever.

  This heist should’ve been a suicide mission.

  Luckily, I’m surviving – so far…

  But only time will tell if Gunner is my ticket to happiness…

  Or a fast track to hell.

  Prologue

  Sierra

  What drew me into the business of stealing jewelry was not a love of diamonds and pearls. It was not the lure of shiny trinkets. I never wore much jewelry growing up, and I cared very little for it even as I started to reach adulthood.

  What drew me in initially was the opportunity to work people. I was attracted to the challenge of winning someone’s trust to the point that they didn’t even realize what I had done until it was too late. I used my looks to disarm powerful men and women alike, to get them to let their guards down so that I could walk out of their lives with whatever I wanted.

  From an early age, I knew I was going to be taller than average. As a kid, everyone always thought I was at least year older than I really was because I was always a little taller than my peers. Since I was ahead physically, teachers and other adults always expected me to be ahead intellectually as well. I learned very early that my looks put me at an advantage over other people around me.

  As a teen, my body quickly developed the kind of feminine curves men always looked for in sports cars. My body had all the smooth, catlike curves of a wild predator. And my fiery red hair made everyone weak in the knees. I learned that my body could get me anything I wanted from men, and even many women who either adored or desired me. While some girls were looking for love in the backseat, I realized I didn’t have to go all the way to get everything I wanted.

  People seemed to be much more giving when they wanted something unattainable, so I became as unattainable as the valuable art and jewelry I would later be lifting from the homes of the wealthiest elite members of high society.

  Luckily, there were people who wanted to own the valuable possessions of the rich as much as I wanted to simply lift them, and they were willing to pay a pretty penny for their prizes. The money kept me in the business of robbing rich fools blind. The more challenging the mark, the larger the payoff, and the more fulfilling my work became.

  I was living the dream. I never had to settle down. I never had to deal with the clingy relationships people invented to trap themselves in place and rob themselves of happiness for another person. I was free, but my services weren’t.

  Then I met Coyote, and I realized that I had been selling myself short to a bunch of hacks and wannabe collectors who were just turning my prizes around and making real money on the black market. Coyote promised to connect me with real buyers who wanted to pay what my stolen treasures were really worth. The dream I had been living before paled in comparison to the life I discovered when I started working for someone.

  Unlike my marks, I didn’t keep many trinkets or other unnecessary possessions that didn’t actually have to do with my job. I had a few pieces of replaceable fine jewelry in case I needed to dress up for a job, a few nice evening gowns and shoes. I had all of my gear, from black tennis shoes with no treads on the soles to my black gloves, because there were times when a job required me just to go in and grab what I was after instead of romancing the owner.

  Possessions seemed to trap so much energy and emotion. They weighed their owners down, and that was what made my job both possible and, arguably, necessary. I didn’t want to get caught in the same trap as the people from whom I had stolen countless articles of sentimentality.

  There was another layer, though, that Coyote taught me about stealing valuable possessions. Coyote specialized in rare, ultra-valuable jewels, and part of what made some of those pieces so valuable was the story behind them. Who had worn it? Where had they worn it? What did that diamond ring or that pearl necklace see?

  It was all sentimental mumbo jumbo of course, but I did find it intriguing that many of the most valuable pieces Coyote sought out were ones that had spent their entire lifetimes being hunted down and stolen from one owner or another. Those stories fascinated me because they meant that my hands were just the latest to aid the pieces on their journey through history.

  So when my boss called me into her office late one night for an “urgent meeting,” I knew there must have been something pretty big on her radar. I was on my way back from a job I had just finished for her, and everything seemed to be alright.

  I had allowed my mark’s security to search my body and my belongings. The jewels I had lifted were already on t
heir way back to Coyote by the time anyone had noticed they were gone, so they didn’t find anything on me. And, of course, the violation of our trust gave me an easy excuse to throw a tantrum, pack my things, and storm out of the mansion before the authorities showed up and discovered that the name I had given my mark and his men was just an alias. Ariana DeVille, as far as I knew, wasn’t even a real person.

  An unmarked black sedan showed up to get me from my luxurious rooftop downtown hotel suite. The windows were completely blacked out and there were no tags on the car. By simply looking official, we were usually able to escape scrutiny on the local level. The Shadow Collective, the ambiguous name of the organization I worked for, operated on a scale much larger than I wanted to know. I was, quite literally, just along for the ride.

  The Shadow Collective’s hideout was more of a compound, and it wasn’t terribly hidden. It was on the outskirts of town, on enough land to build its own city, but it was simply housed in a large mansion that remained well-lit all night with guards posted at the main gate and at several points along the wall surrounding the property. They didn’t look armed at first. They presented themselves as well dressed house staff, but underneath the tuxedos they were required to wear, they were well-armed and trained.