“I’m in Lower Manhattan. I’ll go and get her and bring her to your place.”
“Get Tink as well.”
“Tink?” As well as our resident computer, he was our go-to clean up guy. “Jesus.”
“Trust me, it’s not pretty.”
“I’ll be about an hour if traffic’s kind.”
“Just... Christ, just get her here as fast as you can.”
The second he disconnected, I rang through to Camille. She yawned, which made my lips curve before she mumbled, “Bren?”
It was the first time she’d called me that, and even though nothing about this situation was good, it made me sigh, a slither of happiness unfurling inside me as I thought about her stretching out in our bed, her arms and legs tensing and relaxing as she curled up amid the sheets.
I’d give my left ball to be there, but instead, I didn’t have time.
“Babe, I’m in Lower Manhattan. I’m gonna drive back home, but I need you to be ready to meet me in the garage.”
“What? Why?”
“I know you had scheduled to go to the soup kitchen, but Eoghan’s just called. He says Victoria needs you. She’s had a meltdown.”
“What?! Okay, I’ll be ready in ten.”
Though her voice sounded a lot more alert, I just said, “Well, I’m thirty minutes away, Camille, so don’t break your neck or anything.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know. Eoghan didn’t tell me.” I cleared my throat. “Just be ready, okay? I’ll buzz you when I’m about to turn into the garage, so you know to come down.”
“Okay, Bren. I’ll see you in a little while.”
With that done, I sent a message to Tink as well, telling him to meet me at Eoghan’s.
I raced through traffic which wasn’t as kind to me now as it had been earlier, and when I made it to my building, I did as I said, called her then hung up and pulled into the tunnel that would take me to my section of the garage.
When I made it there, she hadn’t arrived, so I leaned into the glove compartment and pulled out the sweeper Con had made for us.
The second I swept it over the dashboard, the device flashed red.
Jaw clenching, I swore under my breath and climbed out of the car. This vehicle had been only two places without my eyes on it—my da’s compound and here, a secured parking lot.
Locking it up, the sweeper in my hand, I moved over to the cupboard beside the elevator just as she made an appearance. Even though I knew she’d rushed, she looked a million dollars and as fucking furious as I was, as mad as those bruises decorating her temple made me, I stopped to tug her into my arms and greet her good morning.
When I thrust my tongue against hers, she jerked in surprise, then immediately melted in my arms.
Her reaction to me, her response, like always, blew my fucking mind, but it also cleared it. Made everything feel as transparent as glass.
Before, I’d been working for the family. I’d kill for them, but this was different. This was my family of choice. This was the woman I had to protect, or die trying.
My entire world boiled down to her as she accepted me for all that I was, unequivocally, and at that moment, I accepted her for what she was too—the woman I loved.
There, I’d said it.
Even if it was only to myself.
I pulled back, nipping her bottom lip as a parting tease, before I rumbled in her ear, “I have to check the cars. Mine was bugged.”
She frowned. “Did you park up somewhere when you were in Lower Manhattan?”
I shook my head and watched the cogs whirl. “Here or at your father’s place?” she muttered, the question more rhetorical than anything else.
“That’s my thinking too.” I gritted my teeth as I left her to grab the keys for the Maserati.
When I opened it up, the second I did, I swept the device over the car, and found it hadn’t been touched.
I almost preferred the idea of my parking garage being infiltrated than Da’s compound.
Rounding the car, I held open the door for Camille, beckoning her over. As she slipped into the passenger seat, I called Conor.
As it rang, she muttered, “Don’t worry, I’ll try to close my ears.”
Despite the situation, I laughed, that was when Conor picked up. “Bren?”
“You been on a bender?” I demanded, recognizing that tone of his.
He was wired.
“Maybe. What’s up?”
He sounded like he was hopping in his fucking chair—the bounce of the springs in his seat gave me literal confirmation of that.
“My car was bugged at Da’s place.”
“What?” Conor boomed. “That’s impossible. I checked the alarms myself when I was there yesterday. No breaches. None, Bren.”
“Well, it’s either that or your sweeper’s stopped working.”
“I’ll drive out to your garage, test the sweeper and remove the bug if it’s there.” He hissed out a breath. “You know what this means, don’t you? If the bug is actually there?”
“That a rat at Da’s compound planted that shit in my car, and maybe everyone else’s as well?”
“Fuck.”
“That’s pretty much how I feel too.” I heaved a sigh. “I’ll speak to you later, Con.”
“Okay, Bren. Bye.”
Disconnecting the line, I called Bagpipes. “Baggy, there’s a fuckfest going down.”
“When you redirected me, I checked. He’s dead?”
“Yeah. The uniform recognized me, told me that the guy behind Coullson’s death—” Camille gasped. “—was Craig Lacey.”
“No fucking way.”
“Unfortunately, yeah.”
“They’re cleaning up shop.”
“Seems like it.” I grunted. “They must have pulled some BS move on him. Either that, or he’s doing it on his own volition to make a stand? Who the fuck knows.”
“Where’re you heading?”
“Eoghan’s place. Got a family situation going on there.”
“Okay. You’ll be by later though, right?”
“Yeah. We need to figure out our next move. Everything we did with Coullson was a waste of fucking time.”
“That name has to mean something.”
“I take it nothing came up at the Census Bureau?”
“Not this year. Or for the ten previous years.” Bagpipes grunted. “Long shot, Bren, but do you remember a Father McKenna at St. Patrick’s when we were kids?”
Scraping my jaw, I cast my mind back to church. The only trouble was, I rarely paid attention to the nonsense that went down there. “Christ, I can’t remember. I can ask Da though.”
“Nah, don’t bother. It was just, the name rang a bell.”
“It’s a pretty common name,” I pointed out.
“True. Anyway, you get going. See you later.”
“Yeah, later.” I cut the call as I headed north to Eoghan’s building. “How much of that did you try not to hear?” I asked wryly.
“Well...” I shot her a look and saw her nose was wrinkled at the bridge.
Fuck, she was hot.
I knew for a fact she didn’t know it either.
I reached over and placed my hand on her thigh. Not to get kinky or to tease, just to connect.
In all honesty, my mind wasn’t on sex. I just needed the union.
“Camille, things are going to get ugly.”
“Brennan, you said it yourself—life is war.”
“You have that coin,” I reminded her. “I wouldn’t blame you for running off with it.”
“Hush,” she whispered, her hand cupping mine.
And that was how we drove the rest of the way, neither of us saying a word, both of our hands bound—each of us the other’s life raft in a fucking storm.
When we made it to Eoghan’s place, Tink was there, waiting in the parking lot. He nodded his head at me, waved at Camille, and as a unit, we headed to the elevator and rode up to the penthouse.
When Eoghan let us in, I immediately saw the issue. There was no way of hiding it.
“Where was it?” I demanded. “Was your security breached again?”
Down the hall, I could hear Victoria sobbing, and I knew Camille had as well, but the box held her in thrall too, otherwise I knew she’d have gone to her sister.
“No. They left it with the doorman who brought it up when he saw we were back.”
My brow puckered. “He carried it like that and he didn’t call the police?”
Eoghan snorted. “It was in a case, like one of those Uber Eats’ carriers the bikers wear strapped to their backs.”
That would have contained the smell, I figured. At least, for a short while.
In the center of the hallway was a white cardboard box that was soaked through with blood at the base. Eoghan had tipped off the lid to reveal a severed head. Around the neck, there was a bright blue ribbon which peeked out behind the Ziplock bag tucked between the fucker’s lips. The only consolation was that the bastard’s eyes were closed.
“What’s in the bag?”
Eoghan shrugged. “I ain’t touching that shit.”
I couldn’t blame him, but I still grumbled, “Pussy,” as I leaned down and pried it out of the guy’s mouth—rigor mortis was a real pain in the ass.
Once I was standing, I opened the bag and cast Camille a look. “Correct me if I’m wrong, babe, but that’s Basil Lukov, right?”
“Yeah. It is,” she whispered, her eyes perfectly round in her beautiful face as she stared down at the decapitated head of a guy that had just become the next move in Maxim Lyanov’s plan to take over the Bratva.
Pulling out the contents from the bag, I realized it was a legal document, and my brow puckered as I read it.
“What is it?” Eoghan asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Good news, I guessed. Sorting out Victoria’s legal status in Eoghan’s household was on this week’s to-do list, but it looked like Mariska had thought of everything.
I, Mariska Vasov, knowing that my husband will outlive me and may not provide adequate guardianship in case of his untimely death for our daughters, Camille, Inessa, and Victoria Vasov, do hereby assign their legal guardianship to Brennan O’Donnelly.
The statement was notarized, signed, and date-stamped.
Rubbing my chin as I realized Mariska’s faith in me ran deeper than I probably deserved, I murmured, “Your mother thought of everything.”
Passing the note to Camille, I watched as, eyes watering, she read the letter, whispering, “It’s dated four days before she died.”
Her pain hit me like a hammer to the heart, and I tucked my arm around her shoulders, holding her close as I whispered, “She kept you girls safe. That’s all she ever wanted to do.”
Camille gulped, before she rasped, “Maxim must have gone through everything in the house to find this.”
“Did he know your mother?”
“Yeah. She was good to him.” She bit her lip. “She was good to everyone.”
I murmured, “Then, if he knew that, he probably also knew that your father wouldn’t think to protect you because he was a selfish cunt, and knew Mariska might have dealt with the legalities before she died.
“Vasov isn’t officially dead, but it doesn’t matter now, does it? Whether his death is ever reported or not, Victoria’s safe.”
“Lucky,” was all Eoghan said.
My lips twisted. “That’s the luck of the Irish for ya.” I squeezed her. “See? Even the universe knows you’re Irish now.”
A choked laugh escaped her as we shared a glance, warmth arcing between us, before Eoghan grumbled, “The fuck is this head about?””
Somber shadows darkened her eyes as both of us accepted the unpalatable truth. Lukov was no longer a threat, because Lyanov was tying up loose ends. He was making his grab for the Pakhan’s throne, but more than that...
“Lyanov’s started to court your sister,” I rumbled, and her shaky exhalation was all the confirmation I needed to know she thought so too.
Camille
Five years later
When my cell rang, I darted over to grab it, thinking it might be Brennan. I wasn’t worried about him, not technically, but I knew he’d worry about me if I didn’t immediately answer.
It was ridiculous considering I was in a secure location, and he was in Las Vegas with his brothers and crew for his bachelor party, but ever since we’d been abducted, he’d amped up security for all the women in his family.
Years later, I still lived like I was under constant threat, which meant I had Bagpipes with me at all times, even in the nail salon or a craft store, but I also had another guy in the back seat, monitoring the car when we left it.
When he’d flown down to Nevada, he and Eoghan had ratcheted things up even more, to the point where we couldn’t even leave the damn house without taking an army along for the ride.
With us all under the same orders, and because it turned our homes into prisons, we’d agreed to stay at the building the Points used expressly to protect their women, and we were taking advantage of our time stuck together as a pre-bachelorette party, getting everything ready for when it was my turn.
What that boiled down to was that every O’Donnellys’ wife was tucked away here, safe and sound, so that their menfolk could go partying.
It was a joke, but we’d get our own back when we left for Key West. They wouldn’t be locked up here, and we’d have a lot of guards on us, but I intended to have a bachelorette party worthy of a Netflix film.
Disappointed when I saw it was an unknown number, I wasn’t going to answer, but it rang on for a while.
Uneasily, I connected the call, and asked warily, “Hello?”
Only God knew who it might be, but this number was harder to get than the President’s.
“Cammie?”
That deep, husky baritone hit me right in the stomach.
Nyx.
Before, a flutter of butterflies would have stirred to life inside me.
Now?
Dread filled me. Regret and irritation too—I’d been such a fool back then. So pathetic. His voice was a flashback I didn’t need, but it was also a reminder of how different I was now.
I was no longer Cammie.
I was Camille.
“Please, don’t put the phone down,” he burst out, making me tighten my hands around my cell, because I’d been on the brink of doing just that.
“What do you want, Nyx?”
“I—” He hesitated. “I know this is stupid, but Giulia gave birth today.”
Before Brennan, that would have sent shards of agony throughout my entire being. Now, I could admit that I was happy for him.
Huskily, I said, “Congratulations.”
“I just got back from the hospital,” he muttered. “I have a daughter, Cammie.”
“That’s great, Nyx,” I told him softly. “I’m happy for you.”
And I was.
Genuinely.
“I believe you mean that,” he rumbled.
“I do. I always wished you the best.” I’d just wanted that best to include me. But everything happened for a reason, and my reason was Brennan.
My smile appeared at that, easing the wariness that had overtaken me the second I registered who was calling.
“I didn’t deserve it.” He cleared his throat. “I know this is crazy, and I know you probably hoped you’d never hear from me again, but today, I held my baby girl in my arms, Cammie. I held her, and I looked at her, and she grabbed my finger, and I just—
"I realized something.”
When he fell silent, I knew it was because the emotional day had hit him hard. For a psychopath, Nyx could get in his feelings quickly.
“What did you realize?” I prompted.
“That if any guy treated her the way I treated you, I’d kill them.”
My mouth rounded at that. “What?”
“You heard me. I was a bastard to y
ou, Cammie, an absolute cunt. I’m lucky that O’Donnelly hasn’t sent The Whistler after me, because I’d deserve that for what I put you through—”
“It wasn’t your fault that I loved you and you didn’t love me,” I rasped.
“No, but I could have been kinder about it. Instead, I just tossed you out like—” He sighed. “Cammie, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”
Lips trembling, I whispered, “I don’t know what to...”
“You don’t have to say anything," he told me as my voice waned, "You don’t even have to accept it. Just know that I mean it. I regret what I did to you.”
“Thank you.” There was nothing else I could say.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’d best get going. I have two boys as well, and it’s time for bed… Be happy, Cammie.”
“It’s Camille,” I blurted out.
“Can’t blame you. You never were made out to be a clubwhore, Camille. I’m glad you found your rightful place. Have a good life.”
“You too, Nyx.”
With that, he ended the call.
For a second, I stared blankly at the TV opposite my bed. Whatever his purpose might have been, I could never have imagined it'd be an apology.
And even though he didn’t mean anything to me anymore, even though my heart was so wrapped up in Brennan it was like it beat for him alone, his apology mattered. It wasn’t until he said sorry though that I registered how much.
The world was crazier than it had ever been, but life was war as Brennan had once told me, and we had to carry on. That was why, in a month’s time, we were renewing our vows. In St. Patrick’s. Just in time for my baby bump not to show through my wedding dress. A real wedding this time.
With the only thing that mattered in attendance—family.
Reaching up, I tugged on my bottom lip when my screen flashed on again. I cast it a look, and saw Brennan had sent me a text.
Bren: What are you doing, beautiful?
Me: Nothing much. :) How about you? Having fun?
Bren: Not really. Wish you were here.
I grinned. Me: You’ll be back tomorrow.
Bren: Don’t care. It was stupid to go away without you. Most of these fuckers are drooling over lap dancers, and there’s only one ass I want in my face.
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 48
