“Barnes could have killed her today,” he said, and the weight of that came crashing down on him.
“And why does that matter to you?” Clayton asked pointedly.
“It just does.Shedoes,” he admitted softly. “Talk to him. See if he’ll help.”
“And if he says no?”
Quentin pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to ease his aching head. “Then ask him again until he says yes. I need her safe, and I’m in no condition to handle Barnes right now.”
Clayton whistled softly. “You’re in so deep you can’t even see daylight. You poor, sunk bastard.”
The urge to deny it hit him strongly, more out of habit than because he didn’t believe it, but he called it back. He might not tell Clayton everything, but he drew the line at lying to him. They’d all had more than enough lies to last them a lifetime.
“Let me know what he says.”
Clayton agreed, and then Quentin ended the call without saying goodbye. He prepared himself for the sleepless nightahead, silently acknowledging that the beating he took wasn’t the biggest source of his physical discomfort in that moment. It was the woman lying in a bed only a few yards away and the desperate way that he craved her.
Four
It was early. Way early. So early, in fact, that it was normally the time Lowey was going to bed. Struggling out of her sleep fog, she stumbled from the bed. On her feet, she woke up just long enough to get pissed and marched to the bedroom door and then into the living room beyond. Quentin was snoring on the couch. He’d ditched his clothes and wore only a pair of black boxers that rode low enough on his hips to border on indecent. They also looked so sinfully good on him, it made her teeth ache. Even the snoring didn’t dull his sexiness…god, she must be nuts.
“Get over it. Get over him and get over this, Lowey, you fucking idiot,” she whispered to herself as she made her way to the door. Yanking it open, she didn’t have to question that the man she was looking at was a Darcy. She didn’t know him, but he and the man currently making her crazy clearly shared DNA. The same dark hair, same eyes, and chiseled bone structure were similar enough, but the fact they had matching, gigantic chips on their respective shoulders was glaringly apparent.
“Harlow Tate?”
The lilt of an Irish accent gave her pause. Yeah. He definitely had enough sex appeal to carry off that bad boy attitude. But she had enough bad boys in her life already. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
He cocked a dark eyebrow at her. “I see you share more with my half brother than just living quarters…careful, love. Any more of his sterling personality rubs off on you, and it won’t matter how pretty you are. I’m Ciaran Darcy, lover boy’s half brother.”
“Don’t call me love. And you’re not exactly a peach yourself,” she said, turning away. She left the door open. It was close to an invitation as she was going to give him. Darcy men in general, and the two currently in her line of sight in particular, were enough to make her lose her mind.
Ciaran whistled low. “My sympathies are leaning toward the man who shot up your bar…though, I find it hard to forgive a waste of whiskey like that.”
“Jesus, you’re loud!” Quentin groused from the couch as he struggled to sit up.
Lowey watched them, seeing Ciaran’s satisfied smile when he took in Quentin’s battered face. “You’re a bit worse for wear this morning, brother.”
Quentin glared at him beneath lowered brows. “I understand your natural inclination to be a dick, but do you think you can restrict it to p.m. hours?”
Ciaran settled onto the arm of an overstuffed chair. “So, your ex-con of an ex-husband is pissed because you’re hooking up with this jackass?” He directed the question to Lowey, but his gaze was locked firmly on Quentin.
“No. My ex-con of an ex-husband is pissed because I sent him to prison…I wasn’t inclined to take the beatings anymore or tolerate his cooking up meth in our bathroom,” she explained. “He couldn’t care less about Quentin or anyone else.”
Ciaran shook his head. “As much as I hate to say it, your taste in men has actually improved…a bit.”
Lowey’s gaze was drawn to Quentin as he rose and walked toward the kitchen. He began digging through the cabinets until he emerged victorious with a can of coffee. Muscles rippled with every movement, and all she could think about was what it felt like to have him on her, in her. It made her mouth go dry and other parts of her, well, they definitely weren’t dry. She looked away and found Ciaran smirking at her knowingly. It was official. As hot as the Darcy men were, she hated every last one of them.
Quentin stared impatiently at the coffee maker as water began to trickle through it. When the first bit of dark, bitter liquid splashed into the pot, he relaxed and turned to face them. “I need this if I’m going to tolerate his ass this early in the morning,” he said to Lowey as he jerked his thumb in Ciaran’s direction.
Taking in Ciaran’s smirk, Lowey rolled her eyes again. “Can we just address why the hell he’s here when we should all still be sleeping?”
Quentin looked at Ciaran then and admitted, “I had Clayton call you because if Barnes shows up, I’m in no condition to face him…and since you’re the reason why, I figure you could at least pitch in.”
Ciaran crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d tell you to ask nicely, but you’re incapable.”
“So you’re here at the ass crack of dawn to turn me down?” Quentin asked as he pulled the pot from the coffee maker and poured the little bit that had brewed into a cup as it continued to drip and sizzle on the burner.
Lowey rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to bed. You all can measure your dicks without my assistance, and clearly, I don’t get to have a say in whatever is happening here anyway.”
