Burn Baby Byrne: A Secret Baby Romance (Byrne Brothers Book 2)

by Holly Hart

  I shouldn’t have said that. I should have kept my mouth shut, nodded, and run. Mickey’s face fills with anger. I don’t understand why, and I don’t understand him. What is running through my brother’s brain? What has made him flip like this?

  Kieran – why the heck am I thinking of Kieran right now – would never act like this. The Irishman, my Irishman, would never speak to me like I was a piece of dirt on the bottom of his shoe. He would never threaten me. I know that much.

  Mickey strides towards me, fury thundering across his face. His cheeks flicker every time he clenches his jaw. It looks like a shadow of black clouds passing across the sky, or a pack of crows blocking out the sun.

  I hold my purse out in front of me. It’s scant protection, but it’s all I have. I take a step back, and then another. I’m scared to turn and run. “Stay back!” I warn.

  Mickey’s face twists with anger. “Don’t tell me what to do, sister,” he roars.

  When Mickey yells “sister”, it sounds like he’s cursing my soul. He might as well be screaming: “bitch” for all the difference I can detect.

  The floorboards croak and groan underneath Mickey’s weight. He charges up the staircase, and I turn and try to run, but it’s too late. I curse myself. I didn’t believe that Mickey would hurt me, but now that he’s so close, I can see the fire in his eyes.

  My boots hammer the steps underneath them. One; two; three: I’m almost away when Mickey’s fingers close around my calf, dragging me as I hop clumsily away from him, back down the stairs.

  “Mickey!” I yell; all fear forgotten. I’m angry with my brother now. As angry as I used to be as a kid, back in the days when we fought like a pack of wild cats. I need to be. Papa isn’t here anymore to break us up and make us shake hands with each other. “Get off me! Let me go!,” I pant, kicking my leg in my brother’s direction to shake him off.

  Mickey drags me towards him. “Shut the hell up, Sofia,” he growls. His chest is heaving. He’s unfit, overweight, but still a hundred times more powerful than I am.

  “Michael,” I whisper as my brother’s fingers close around my wrists. His eyes burn holes in my face. “You don’t need to act like this. I’m your sister, you’re family –.”

  “Shut up!” Mickey yells. He holds my wrists tight with one hand, and slaps me on the face with the other. I rock backwards, cheek stinging. I can’t even reach up to soothe it, because my brother’s fingers are burning a red line around my wrists.

  “Listen to me, Sofia,” he thunders, his lips just inches from my eyes. “Listen to every goddamn word. You never have before, but you’ll start if you want to live.”

  I look up at my brother, and realize I’m afraid: very afraid. It’s not just me who needs protecting: it’s the little bundle of life I’m carrying in my stomach. Suddenly every harsh word and every scrap I’ve ever had with Mickey seems to melt away. What does any of it mean? The power, the money, the respect, the loyalty: its all for what? None of it means a damn thing if I can’t keep my baby safe. This baby, who I haven’t even had a chance to get to know; this baby, who I’m not even sure I want to keep.

  “You don’t tell me I’m making the wrong decision, you understand?” Mickey spits. “You always thought you were smarter than me, huh? Well who’s smarter now, Sofia?”

  “What are you going to do, Mickey?” I whisper, shrinking back from my brother’s anger.

  “I’m going to do what papa should’ve done years ago,” Mickey smirks. He squeezes my wrists even tighter together. “I’m going to smash the Byrne grip over this city; and you’re going to do exactly as I tell you.”

  “Mickey,” I yelp, as the pain from my brother’s grip threatens to drop me to my knees, “you don’t have to act like this. There’s another way. The Byrnes are reasonable people, I can –.”

  My brother’s patience snaps. What little he has, anyway. I try to pull away, but Mickey drags me towards him. I tug my arms, trying to pull one free, trying to hold myself more upright, but it’s a losing battle.

  “Mickey,” I scream, suddenly terrified. I’m still waiting for something inside my brother to remember that that’s what he is: my brother! No matter why, or how much, he hates me now: surely he must remember that?

  But he doesn’t. He throws me down the stairs, and I plummet downward. I try to draw my body in, even as the solid wooden stair corners and edges strike my soft flesh. I hug my body, protecting my stomach, and not bothering to stifle the cries of pain that escape my mouth.

  I come to a stop just above the bottom step, groaning and clutching my body. I barely hear the sound of thuds as Mickey strides down towards me. He crouches down beside me. Sparks of pain keep crackling across my body. I peer up at Mickey’s leering face. There isn’t a hint of concern in his eyes – just burning rage.

  “Listen to me, sister,” he hisses. “You’re going to do exactly as I tell you. You’re going to keep that son of a bitch Kieran Byrne thinking you’re going to marry him. I don’t care if you have to spread your legs to do it. Do you understand?”Mickey’s forehead wrinkles. He blinks at me, and then a disbelieving grin breaks out on his face. It looks so out of place, I scarcely believe it. Mickey – my brother – must be a sociopath. I can’t explain this any other way. He just threw his only sister down a set of stairs, and barely blinked an eye.

  “You actually like him, don’t you?” Mickey growls out, shaking his head. He pulls himself to his feet, looking down at me with disdain. I don’t know what he sees in my face the he can tell. If I did, I’d try to hide it. “Enjoy it while it lasts, sister. He’ll be dead soon enough.”

  Mickey leaves without another word – floorboards creaking as he strides – just whistling as he disappears into the depths of the old house.

  I close my eyes, cradling my stomach – my child – and draw a painful breath. I hold on to the pain: even savor it. It’s a reminder of what this is going to take. I’m going to save my baby; no matter what it costs.

  16

  Sofia

  My body aches as I drag it forward. Every step I take causes explosions of pain to erupt through my body. Every time my chest draws breath, it feels like a thousand papercuts falling upon one another like a hive of angered hornets.

  I hear the tinkling of metal. It sounds like keys jangling together.

  “I got yer message, doll. What’s –?”

  I look up, and my breath catches in my throat. Kieran’s leaning against his doorframe, spinning a key ring around his index finger. He looks like he always does: completely unconcerned by life; by the universe; by anything at all.

  I take the last couple of steps between us at double speed, ignoring the complaints my battered nerve endings send rattling around my body. I press myself against Kieran’s powerful torso, burying my head in his chest. I wrap my arms around him, and lose myself in his heat. For a little while, I let myself forget what happened – the horror that brought me here – and pretend this is just like any other relationship.

  “Ye look like shit, babe. What happened?” Kieran asks, finally breaking his silence. He is – as is normal for him – blunt. His voice has suddenly switched. Whereas a second ago, it was – typical Kieran-as-usual – relaxed and joking, now it’s hard and uncompromising. Out of nowhere, Kieran Byrne sounds like a hardened killer. He sounds ready to go into battle on my behalf.

  I drag in a long breath through my nostrils. Kieran smells fresh out of the shower: masculine, with a hint of tea tree oil. I feel the stinging heat of tears prickling the corners of my eyes, and I press my eyelids against Kieran’s body to squash them away.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “Can we just –,” I pause. “Can you just hold me?”

  I feel a soft, insistent pressure tugging at my back. Kieran pulls me inside his apartment. I don’t resist. I let him lead me, suddenly finding myself utterly exhausted. The fingers of Kieran’s right hand climb into my hair, and stroke it. I keep my eyes shut tight. I don’t even want to look at the concern on
Kieran’s face, for fear I’ll burst into tears.

  Kieran guides me to the nearest couch. I’ve never been to his apartment before, but I couldn’t care less for the nervous baby steps of a normal relationship right now. I follow, copying his movements like a dancer – a punch drunk dancer – as Kieran has me sit down.

  “Can I … can I get ye something?” Kieran asks. He sounds out of his element – lost – as though he doesn’t know whether to be angry or worried.

  I shake my head. “No,” I whisper, clinging to his strength. “Just – please, stay here: with me.” I guess I sound out of my element as well: like Kieran’s melting my shell.

  “Of course, doll,” Kieran whispers, as he pulls my body into his. His arms surround me. I feel like a child in the womb; warm, safe, protected. “Whatever ye need, I’m here.”

  I take a deep, ragged breath in through my nostrils. I want to drink in Kieran’s scent until I have it committed to memory. What Mickey did earlier – it terrified me. It made me realize that I’m all alone in this world, that I have no family – not anymore. I don’t need someone to keep me safe, I can do that myself: at least, now I can; now that I know I need to. What I need is someone by my side: someone to hold me. Someone like Kieran; only Kieran.

  I feel a heat blooming between my cheeks and Kieran’s chest. I lick my lips, and taste the salt from my tears.

  “Sofia,” Kieran says, tugging insistently at my chin. “Yer crying. Tell me what happened.”

  Kieran pulls at my chin until I have no option but to look at him. His face is lined with concern. He looks like a loaded weapon – just begging for a direction to fire into. I have no doubt that if I told him what happened, my brother would be dead by morning. Part of me is tempted to aim him at my brother.

  But I know I can’t let that happen. That would be the same as lighting a match to kindling paper. No matter what choice I make, I’m risking a war. A war that might get Kieran killed; a war which would risk my child’s life. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place – except the rock is Mount Rushmore, and the hard place the damn Grand Tetons.

  I make my mind up. I have no idea what to do: not about Mickey, and not about the baby in my stomach. But there are some things under control: things that I can change; like myself, for a start; and the future I can build for my child.

  I lose myself looking up into Kieran’s glittering green and hazel brown eyes. They look golden in the dim light of the apartment. I know, without a doubt, that this is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. The thought of Kieran instinctively entered my mind as the first person I should go to after Mickey threw me down the stairs; his arms were the only place I craved.

  “Thank you, Kieran,” I whisper. I have to shut my eyes. With what I want – what I need – to say to the Irishman, I don’t think I can bear the heat of his gaze on me.

  “I’ve done nothing yet, doll,” Kieran whispers, moving his lips until I feel them tickling my ears. “At least, not until ye tell me what I need to do.”

  I shake my head. “No, not about that,” I say, my voice barely audible. “About this: about … everything. I’ve been horrible to you: a complete bitch,” I say, cringing at the sound of a word I hate; but only because I know it’s true. “But I want to promise you something. I won’t be like that – can’t be like that – not anymore. You have my word.”

  Kieran laughs softly. “Ye? A bitch? Who told ye that, now?”

  I’m so tired, but even so I feel the corners of my mouth kicking up into a smile. “You don’t need to be an ass,” I whisper, stroking Kieran’s side. “I’m trying to be honest with you.”

  “And I’m listening,” Kieran says. He wipes the humor off his face. I know that it was just his way of coping with the situation. Kieran turns to a joke first – he always has. It’s just a part of him; it’s how he operates.

  “Why are ye telling me this?” Kieran asks. “Sofia, tell me what happened to ye earlier.”

  I shake my head. My hair rustles against Kieran’s body. “I can’t –,” I mutter, my voice breaking, “not yet. But I will, I promise.”

  There’s a silence between us. It lasts seconds, but it feels like minutes. I know I need to explain myself better, but it’s hard. It’s like my mouth can’t find the words.

  “I know what they call me, you know,” I say. My voice sounds louder now, the pain less intense now Kieran is soaking it up; “The ice queen.”

  Kieran grins. I don’t have to be looking at his face to know that is what he’s doing. “I’m sure I don’t know what ye are talking about…”

  I elbow the Irishman in the ribs – gently. It’s not meant to hurt him, just to make a point. “Don’t lie,” I whisper. “They are right to call me that. I know what I can be like: cold.”

  “Scary even,” Kieran observes. My eyes flicker open, burning with a slight sense of outrage. I see Kieran’s eyebrows raised.

  He nods.

  “It’s true, ye know. Ye can be one scary lady, Sofia Morello.”

  A sad laugh breaks out in my chest. It sounds strangled and broken. “I sure don’t feel scary: not right now.”

  Kieran leans down and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Ye shouldn’t doubt yerself, Sofia. I’ve never met anyone like ye before –.”

  “You mean anyone this bitchy?”

  “Anyone this strong,” Kieran finishes, cutting me off. I have to close my eyes again, because I don’t want to see the expression on Kieran’s face.

  “You don’t mean that,” I whisper. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Kieran’s fingers tighten around my chin. For a brief fraction of a second, the touch reminds me of my brother’s fingers crushing my wrists. I shiver, and then I’m shivering because of the heat of Kieran’s touch: because everywhere else feels cold in comparison.

  “And ye, lil’ Miss Perfect, don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. Ye dig?”

  Kieran’s tone is firm and insistent. Yet, with the big powerful Irishman, unlike my brother, I don’t have to worry that I’m stepping on some deep, scarcely-hidden insecurity every time I threaten his masculinity. Kieran takes it in stride; it’s nothing to him. His confidence is so irrepressible that words or actions that would dent another man’s pride, simply bounce off his armor.

  “I – ”

  Kieran presses two fingers on my lips. I can’t speak, and I hate it. “Listen to me, Sofia, and listen good. Yer one hell of a woman. I love me boys, but they’re bastards, every one. They stay in line ‘cos they know I could beat them ten ways from Sunday, every day of the week.”

  Kieran leans down, and replaces his fingers with his lips. He lingers there, pressing his mouth against mine. I don’t return the kiss, I barely move. I’m transfixed by the words coming out of Kieran’s mouth – paralyzed by them.

  “But ye,” he says, drawing out the word as he lifts his head once again. Kieran sounds mystified and amazed by what he’s saying. “Ye get yer boys to do what ye want with yer words. It’s a skill, doll. Ye say jump, they’re a foot off the ground before they ask how high.”

  I shake my head free of the fingers that returned to my lips the second Kieran pulled his mouth away.

  “It’s a habit,” I whisper. “Now papa is dead, now Mickey’s in charge, our soldiers wouldn’t follow me into a bar.”

  Kieran stares down at me. His eyes are gleaming. He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “How would you –?”

  I gaze into Kieran’s eyes, trying to reach the message hidden in his stare. It reads like a code: unknowable; inscrutable. There are so many facets of intelligence in those eyes that I hadn’t noticed before – or appreciated. Kieran Byrne isn’t just muscle, though he’s that as well. He’s so much more.

  “I know,” Kieran growls. “I know because I saw the way yer man moved when ye clicked yer fingers at me brother’s wedding. You know all the books shit. But I know because I know men, Sofia. I know what’s in their hearts. Ye have a wa
y with ‘em – a way of command – that I’ve not seen since,” he shrugs, a shadow running across his face, “since me da was younger. I know because yer brother is a fool. Soldiers are simple people, but they don’t like fools. Fools get them killed.”

  “And what if I don’t want this anymore?” I ask; “Any of this. What if I just want to be with you, by your side, and not at the head of a bunch of gangsters?”

  Kieran grins, and strokes my hair. It’s soft, and comforting, and I hope that he never stops. “See, gal, that’s the thing. I’m not sure that’s what ye want. Not really.”

  Kieran’s words strike home. He’s right and it eases something inside; and I hate him for it, all at the same time. I can’t bear the thought of Mickey destroying the family – that took my papa years to build – all in a matter of months. I know he’ll do it, and I know a lot of good men will die in the process.

  Can I really stand by and let that happen?

  But then there’s what lies behind door number two: the baby that will soon be kicking inside my stomach. Don’t I have a responsibility to him – or her – that’s even greater?

  “Why did you have to make it so damn difficult?” I whisper, reaching up and stroking Kieran’s cheek.

  “Ye did that for yerself,” Kieran smiles. “You don’t strike me as the kind of gal who will be happy to stand half-bent underneath a glass ceiling. So smash through it, will ye?”

  Kieran’s rough, honest words assault me. That’s the only way I can describe the feeling that overcomes me. It’s pure, unbridled love. I barely know the man, even if I am carrying his child: a child that, through all the laws of science and birth control, shouldn’t be possible. That’s got to mean something, right?

  But the way Kieran’s looking at me, and talking about me: like I’ve got a life ahead of me that’s full of possibility, opportunity and open paths… You can’t fake that. It means something.

  “Thank you,” I murmur my eyes are hot with suppressed tears.