I’m thinking about the way I danced and how alive I felt on stage. I’m also thinking about Connor McCann sitting in the front row. My mind races with thoughts of him. Honestly, I think about him a lot anyway, but tonight it’s relentless.
All of us—the girls from school—have watched him with a fascination that borders on obsession. With his knowing eyes and square jaw, the pretty mouth that never smiles, the hard body and harder stare, he’s been an avenging angel around the city. It’s known. He’s known.
He can be brutal. He can be deadly. Or so it’s been said.
Rumor has it that he and Anvil bled in the snow behind St. Cyril’s where a gunfight ended.
I shiver. In my head, I’m afraid of him.
But I’m other things too. I’m attracted, though I’m fighting that feeling with all my willpower because I know how dangerous it is to even be around him, especially now that he’s at war with Frank. I remember when I developed my aching crush on him, back when he was Frank’s right hand.
At Rachel’s graduation party, I snuck upstairs, hoping to bump into hard-bodied C who had not come out to swim. Instead of finding Connor up there, I got cornered on the landing by Anvil, one of C’s crue. Anvil is massive, scarred, and terrifying. His big palm burned a handprint through my bikini bottoms, making me squirm.
“Not her. She’s Rachel’s friend. Young,” Connor had said, waving his hand for me to come down the stairs.
“I’m eighteen,” I protested, wanting to make sure Connor knew that I wasn’t jailbait.
Anvil had scowled, weighing the moment. Then he’d removed his hand and stepped back.
I’d hurried down the steps, but C had drawn me around the corner and pinned me to the wall.
“What did I tell you about going up there?”
“I really had to pee. There’s someone locked in the downstairs bathroom getting sick, I think.”
He spun me to face the wall and slapped my ass. The sting was more shocking than painful. I froze, unable to even breathe. He slapped me a second time and a little hum started in my core. The beautiful, deadly guy that we all obsessed about had me up against a wall, my breasts squashed against the cool plaster, my ass barely covered and way too close to him.
“What did I tell you?”
“You said not to,” I whispered shakily.
“Remember whose house you’re in. Don’t disobey me again.”
His breath was hot against the bare skin of my shoulder.
I turned my head, so his mouth was almost touching my cheek.
“What would you do?” I asked, captivated by the moment, adrenaline pouring into my veins like liquid fire. With all his brooding intensity focused on me, I could barely breathe.
Strong fingers bit into my hip for a moment. “Things you’re not meant to know about. Be a good girl, beautiful, and go back out to the pool.” Then he’d backed away and pointed.
I’d fled. As ordered. But the word ‘beautiful’ haunted me. So had the way I’d felt pinned against the wall... I’d wanted him. A lot.
I’d like to believe that three years later, I’m more worldly. I wouldn’t scamper away like that now. Right?
I can tell myself whatever I want when he’s not around. At my door, I stare again at the mark, wondering what it means. One thing is certain, I should go voluntarily to talk to him. Maybe I should take Rachel with me. I’m not sure. She doesn’t know them well either. Frank Palermo orders his guys not to speak to her, so we never chat with the men who work for him. Still, she’s important in the city. Much more so than I am.
But these days Frank’s guys guard Rachel like a prize, as his property, not as a person. And now his motives have become clear. She’s being married off to a New York boss’s son. That’ll be big-time leverage for Frank.
Girls are treated like a commodity, and not just by Frank. There’s a reason I’ve avoided talking to Connor when I’ve seen him around. I’m smart enough now to know the best thing I can do for myself is to stay as far away as I can from anyone in a criminal syndicate. I, more than anyone, need to stay out of the middle of the war these two deadly syndicates are waging.
I open the door and freeze because I’m not alone.
Sitting on my secondhand couch is Connor McCann, gorgeous, deadly, calm. His hard eyes drink me in, and I’m even more breathless than I was the last time I saw him.
