Devil: The Doyles, A Boston Irish Mafia Romance

by Sophie Austin

  It’s not long before I feel her muscles begin to tremble again. I thrust harder, deeper into her, rolling her clit relentlessly as she screams out her second orgasm, her legs crashing around my hand as her hips buck off the bed. I keep up the pressure, finger fucking her through her climax until she comes apart.

  I stop thrusting but leave my fingers inside her, stroking her gently until her spasms ease off. Her hands are tossed over her head, her eyes closed and her face still tense from the power of her orgasm. Her nipples are bright pink, still hard.

  God, I’d love to fuck her again. This time with my hard as steel cock, but that’s not the plan right now. She’s not ready for that, not yet.

  Right now, she’s ready to tell me what I need to know.

  But I can’t bring myself to ask.

  She’s shivering, and I lift her up from the bed and cover her with the quilt. I climb in beside her, holding her until she drifts off to sleep.

  Falling for Detective Ruby Williams is not part of my plan.

  12

  Ruby

  When I wake up, it’s dark outside. I’ve never, ever come like that before. It was stupid to tease him, probably, but I wanted to see that powerful dark side come out again.

  Jesus, Ruby. What the fuck are you doing?

  I wonder how long I’ve been out, when I hear the door open. I clutch the quilt to my chest.

  It’s Ronan, that wolfish look on his face.

  I’m embarrassed at how I let him fuck me like that. My desire for a strong, powerful man has always embarrassed me. I’m a tough, capable woman.

  But I loved how Ronan had driven our encounter, drawing out an orgasm like I’ve never felt before.

  “Hi,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”

  He places some takeout on the dresser and flips on a light. He leans over the bed and kisses me.

  “Don’t be sorry. I made this sexy fucking woman come so hard, twice, that she passed out.”

  “It was…I’ve never…” I’m stumbling over my words. “But what about you?”

  “Honey, we’ve got to work up to me giving you my cock.”

  His absolute smug tone should infuriate me, but after experiencing how good he is with his mouth and fingers I realize he might be right about that.

  “I picked up some dinner from Clyde’s. Nothing fancy, but I thought you might be hungry.”

  He’s right about that, too. I’m ravenous. I can’t remember ever having been so hungry. He hands me a container—it looks like some kind of shepherd’s pie but I’m too hungry to care. I dig in with gusto, Ronan watching approvingly. He’s halfway through his dinner when his phone rings. He frowns at it for a moment and steps into the hallway to take the call.

  I slip out of the bed, dragging the quilt with me. The door is slightly ajar, and I listen carefully.

  “Kieran, I can’t understand you. Kieran. I can’t…put Seamus on.”

  Silence for a few long seconds, and then a strangled cry. The immense pain of it shocks me.

  “Yeah, Dad. It’s me. I will, Dad. I promise. I won’t let you down. I won’t let her down either. I love you, too.”

  I scurry back to the bed, not wanting Ronan to catch me eavesdropping. He comes back inside, and he looks like a tightly coiled spring.

  “Ronan.”

  “Don’t,” he says. “I need to go out for a bit. Can you do me a favor?”

  “Anything,” I say.

  “Stay inside for the rest of the night. Leave the TV on.”

  “Is it your dad? Is he okay?”

  “Just do that for me. Please, Ruby?”

  Ronan isn’t a man who begs. I won’t make him ask twice.

  I realize that impulse, that desire to put his comfort before my need for information, might become problematic.

  But still, I do it.

  “Okay,” I reply.

  “Thank you. Keep the door locked.”

  “Ronan.”

  He turns back to look at me, his eyes shining.

  “It’ll be fine, Ruby. I just need some air.” He pulls a hand over his face, over the stubble that’s already come in.

  How much testosterone does this man have?

  “It’s plans.” I shouldn’t be telling him this. “When I was in the staff area I saw a trapdoor, and it led to a creepy little wardroom. There were some rosters, operations information, delivery schedules.”

  Cops and criminals joining forces to take out worse criminals. Black and white. Wrong and right.

  And now with a tangle of bodies and maybe something more? It’s harder to discern the risks in the shades of grey.

  He looks at me with an intensity that scares me. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. Kept it just sexual. But it’s too late now and I’m in too deep to get out clean.

  “I grabbed some pictures before I left.”

  I was going to use them to expose the police chief. His name is on several of those rosters.

  “Can you send them to me?” His voice is impossibly gentle. The sound doesn’t match the look in his eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  I grab my phone from the nightstand and text all the photos except the ones incriminating the cops to Ronan. I want to handle that myself.

  He flinches when his phone buzzes. He stands there, before walking over and kissing me.

  “Keep the door locked, Ruby.”

  I’m afraid of what he’s going to do, of what could happen to him, but I know there’s nothing I could do to keep him from whatever he’s after. Calling the state cops would be one option, but right now I trust him more than I do the cops around here and where does that leave things?

  It feels like treason, but it’s true.

  “I will.”

  With that he’s out the door. I lock it behind me. The mustang starts up and drives off into the night.

  I’m not good at sitting and waiting.

  I look over the delivery schedule and operation information. It’s clear the church plays a part in this somehow. Maybe it’s a way point? But that doesn’t make sense.

  According to the schedule, the trucks shipping the drugs leave the brewery by a service road that connects directly to the turnpike. From there it’s off to Boston, New York City, or Hartford by road, or over to the little airfield for specialized drops.

  The farmhouse Clyde mentioned isn’t in any of these documents either. It must fit into the puzzle, but I’m not sure how.

  I read the documents over and over again and do some research online. I’m getting frustrated when I decide to take a break. It’s late. Past midnight. Ronan’s been gone for at least five hours now. I tidy up our room, and suddenly realize how badly I need to tidy myself up, too.

  I feel like many parts of my life are untidy now.

  I draw a bath, dropping in one of the bath bombs our hosts had left with the complimentary toiletries. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and clip my hair up on my head before settling into the warm lavender-scented water.

  My mind drifts to Ronan, to the complicated relationship that’s taking shape, but I’m too tired to make sense of that now.

  I must drift off to sleep because when I open my eyes the water is cold and Ronan is squatting next to the tub.

  “You’re going to get hypothermia,” he says softly. “Come on. I’ll help you out.” He offers me a hand. I climb out, and he wraps a warm, fuzzy towel around me. “I need to take a shower. Mind if I use the bathroom?”

  “Of course not.”

  I change into my pajamas and climb into bed. About a half hour later, Ronan emerges from the bathroom, a towel slung around his waist. His hair is damp, and there’s a bruise blooming on his muscular chest.

  I sit up, alarmed.

  He looks perplexed for a moment and then smiles as he realizes the source of my concern.

  “Don’t go soft on me, Williams,” he says. “I’m fine.”

  “Chest trauma can be dangerous,” I snap, annoyed at his dismissive a
ttitude and annoyed at myself for the strength of my response to him. “There are a lot of important organs in there, you dick.”

  He fiddles in a drawer and pulls out some boxer briefs and a pair of pajama pants. I gawk as the towel slides off his hips, revealing a muscular ass. I wonder if he’ll turn around, but he doesn’t, and I’m left wondering as he slides on his clothes.

  He looks at the trunk for a minute, and then at the bed.

  “Come on,” I sigh. “We’re both stubborn, Ronan. I know you’re not going to tell me what happened tonight, but you shouldn’t sleep on the goddamn floor.”

  He hesitates, but then nods and flips off the light before slipping in next to me. I shiver, and he chuckles low in his throat.

  Asshole.

  I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling, wide awake, wondering if Ronan’s asleep when I hear him say, his voice barely audible, “He killed my mother.”

  I roll onto my side to face him. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling.

  “Who did? Michael Dooley? I thought you said she had cancer?”

  “Someone sent a letter to my dad today, at the Kildare. No postage or return address. Just left on the bar. Handwritten. Told a hell of a story. O’Dooley knew losing my mother would incapacitate my dad, at least for a while. And having to raise five kids on his own? That would put a serious dent in his ability to do business. He also knew my dad and the head of the Carney clan had both been in love with my mother, and that her death would make Carney hate my father even more for stealing her away when he couldn’t even keep her alive.”

  The reality of his words wash over me.

  His mother – who he spoke about so fondly just a few days ago – slain.

  Not taken by cancer.

  Another pointless death in the endless cycle of violence swirling around this man. His family. His business.

  “What a monster.” I want to touch him, but he seems so far away. “Ronan, why now? Why tell your dad this now?”

  “He’s telling me, Ruby. He knows I’m here. That I’m onto something. My dad is sick. He tore up the bar after reading that goddamn letter. Ended up in Mass General Hospital. O’Dooley figures if I’m at a funeral I’ll be too busy to catch him out.”

  “Is your father’s condition stable?”

  “For now. He’ll be home in a day or two.”

  I reach over and stroke his hair. He squeezes his eyes shut.

  “How do you know he isn’t lying to mess with you?”

  “He knew too much. When she started to get sick, when she got worse. When she seemed to improve. When she took a dramatic, surprising turn for the worse.”

  More questions seem too invasive, so instead I just stroke his hair and kiss the tattoo on his shoulder. It’s an intricate shamrock design and takes up the top half of his arm. Must’ve hurt like hell. He probably hadn’t flinched even once.

  “He poisoned her with benzene. In her favorite lemonade. None of us kids were allowed to have it because of the sugar, and it was too sweet for my dad. Benzene causes leukemia, and it’s metabolized by the body so fast that it’s hard to detect. He killed her, Ruby. He killed her just to fuck with my dad and make space for his drug operations. Like she was nothing.”

  “He killed her because she was everything,” I say, my lips against the hard muscle of his shoulder. “He had no right to take her life like that.”

  He shudders for a moment, but then reaches out, pulling me into his arms. I curl up against his body.

  “I’m telling you because I need you to understand what I have to do, Ruby.”

  He pauses, and the next words come out like a confession. “I care about you. I know we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but I need you to understand…”

  My heart aches for this man that just learned an excruciating truth, and he probably doesn’t even feel safe to share his emotions.

  I won’t make this worse on him.

  “I understand, Ronan. I have my own problems to take care of here.”

  The words aren’t easy to say, but I say them, because I have had years to understand that sometimes the justice system doesn’t offer the salve you want when you face a personal wrong.

  Sometimes there are no easy answers.

  Sometimes you’re a cop.

  In bed with a man who may or may not have been a criminal, but that’s going to avenge his mother’s death.

  Who trusted you enough to tell you, even though you could put him away for a lifetime for just the plan with one phone call.

  A man who overcomes his need for control and lets you drive his car.

  And who demands control in the bedroom and drives your pleasure until your throat is raw from screaming his name.

  A paradox.

  The man. My feelings. And the strange reality that we’re in.

  Before this trip, I would’ve demanded that justice be meted out by due process. That Michael O’Dooley be arrested, tried, and convicted for drug smuggling and for murder.

  And for what?

  Michael O’Dooley isn’t redeemable. He’s not looking for a chance to pay his debt to society or even find a better way to peace with himself.

  No.

  O’Dooley was a man who murdered children without a thought, for a dollar. Who crushed his family and who secured that position by tapping into a correct police force. By perverting everything I believe in.

  But Ronan is going to kill him.

  This man whose arms are wrapped tenderly around me is going to take another person’s life. Judge, jury, and executioner, because he made a promise to his father.

  I should feel something, but mostly I feel numb and defeated.

  Part of me knows I should feel more, that I’ve let me heart compromise my judgement. That’s there’s going to come a time when I’m going to decide if I’m a cop or I’m a top mafia guy’s woman – or if there’s a way to be both.

  Putting Michael O’Dooley in jail won’t bring Emily or the tenants of that building back. It won’t undo the trauma caused by Ronan’s mother’s death.

  Neither will killing him.

  And therein is the great contradiction. But even from jail he could run his drug operation, and I’d come on this trip to make as big a dent in that as possible, along with exposing corruption in the police force.

  Ending his life might bring peace to the Doyle family. And if might save lives.

  Strange calculus, Ronan had said to me once.

  My thoughts go to my own father, serving a decade of days filled with regrets in a grim federal prison. For a long time, we didn’t talk.

  My bosses told me to keep away, if I wanted to keep my job.

  But one weekend, I’d packed a bag and quietly driven one hundred miles to the prison.

  And there, on the other side of the glass, was my dad.

  He looked older, thinner, tired.

  But still my dad.

  “I made bad decisions,” he said softly, regretfully. “I think of you and the weights you carry each and every day. It’s easy to get lost. And it’s hard to miss what’s important because you’re too focused. No one person is the arbiter of justice, Ruby. Just do the best you can.”

  Ronan falls into an uneasy sleep, holding me tight against his body. Sighing, I nestle against him.

  Truly, I’m conflicted.

  But I’m conflicted for myself, for what this shift and realization means, and for whether it impacts the future.

  But for Ronan, I’m sure in the clarity of his path.

  Although he’ll need to walk it, and that’s a weight I hate to think of him having to bear.

  “It’s always darkest before the dawn,” I whisper, before closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep.

  13

  Ronan

  I wake up to Detective Ruby Williams drooling on my chest. She’s curled up on me like a cat, mouth open, hopefully dreaming of better things than I did. I move a lock of thick dark brown hair off her face.

  She uncurls at my touch, str
etching against me and opening those big brown eyes.

  “Hi,” she murmurs sleepily, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. I raise an eyebrow and she presses her lips together, embarrassed.

  “You’re cute when you blush.”

  “Cute is not a descriptor I usually hear after I’ve drooled on some hot guy,” she mumbles, snuggling next to me.

  “Happen a lot?”

  She giggles. “Are you jealous, Ronan? You’re definitely the hottest man I’ve drooled on, if that helps at all.”

  I bet I’m the only one who made her come so hard, twice, that she had to sleep it off.

  Maybe I’m a little jealous. I get a flash of her coming undone under another man’s hands and immediately imagine breaking that man’s neck.

  His imaginary neck.

  “It does,” I say, running my fingers down her arm. She’s all lean muscle, but her skin is soft, yielding. She’s looking up at me, and I can tell she wants to ask me something.

  I’m not going to tell her what happened after I left this room. Better that she doesn’t know. She’ll be safer this way.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Ruby begins.

  Damn. Is she reading my mind now?

  “But I’m surprised you don’t have a girlfriend…”

  Okay, not what I was expecting. She looks so vulnerable right now.

  Jesus. What is she really asking?

  “It’s not a life I feel comfortable bringing most women into,” I reply, finally. “I’m not ashamed of my family. We run an honest business.”

  She snorts, and I flash her a look.

  “Sorry,” she says.

  “But there’s a lot of complications. A lot of history. It’s better to keep things casual. Safer. If anyone can understand that, it’s you.”

  Being a cop’s spouse isn’t easy either.

  Her gaze drifts, and she’s staring off into some middle distance.

  “Yeah,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “Complications.”

  There’s something there I’m not getting. Feelings have never been my strong point. I’ve always been the one who gets shit done. Emotions just get in the way. Still, the sad edge to Ruby’s voice makes me feel some kind of way, and I don’t like it.