4
JAMIE
The black SUV pulls up to the curb, and I climb in.
Heat blasts from the vents, and death metal blares from speakers. That’s no surprise, but the fact that War’s shirtless, too, and has a smudge of blood on his side causes my brows to rise. Not like him to lose a fucking inch in a fight, let alone have clothes destroyed.
At six-foot-six and ripped, War’s got the body of a cyborg. If not for his wild black hair making him look like the leader of a motorcycle gang, he’d probably have been recruited by some secret military operation with a codename like Apocalypse.
“Lost mine in a fight,” I say. “You?”
“How’d you lose a shirt in a fight? Was someone trying to fuck you?”
Huffing out a mirthless laugh, I take the gun from my inside coat pocket and toss it in the glove box. “You’d have heard from me earlier if I’d shot someone in the head.”
It’s too bad that wasn’t what happened. Burying the body of an asshole would’ve been a much more satisfying way to end the night.
“So?” War asks. “What happened to your face? If there’s somewhere we need to stop before we head home, tell me now.”
War’s always ready for action. When the bosses send him out for blood, he spills the maximum amount that the situation calls for. My friendship with War has made my own vicious plans feel almost pedestrian.
If I told him about the Jude mission, I wonder if he’d offer to help. That can’t happen since we work for an organization that doesn’t allow criminal moonlighting, but I’m still curious.
No one can know, I remind myself.Not even War.
This has always been something I need to do alone.
Jude and I were alone when he was taken. We were alone when I found him bloody and abused. And we were alone when I found him dead.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I exhale a sigh. “Nowhere to stop. Head home.”
War’s silent. He’s waiting to hear the story from last night. I don’t leave him in suspense.
“The fight was with a couple of dickhead frat guys who wouldn’t leave my cousin Ash be.” I shake my head. “In a bar full of men, that girl’s always one second away from some asshole trying to kidnap her.”
War’s scowl is black and bitter. “What the fuck was she doing in a bar on her own? Bodyguard or locked down. That’s it.”
My gaze cuts to his profile. When it comes to girls, he never asks questions or renders opinions on how to handle them. He does what he does. And I do the same.
“Who said she was alone? I just said I was there,” I counter to his implied accusation that by letting my nineteen-year-old cousin meet up with me for a drink, I’m shirking my responsibilities.
“I don’t see her with you now. So, you parted ways sometime.”
Despite the American spelling of her Irish name and the fact that she was born and raised in America, Ashling has full Irish blood in her veins. Under the beauty and quicksilver wit, there’s a clever girl. Her older brother is a stone-cold killer with over a billion dollars to his name. If either of them thought she needed a twenty-four-seven bodyguard, she’d have one.
My eyes narrow as I study War’s face in profile. Ash is a stunner, but I’ve never seen War give her more than a passing glance. “What’s your interest in Ashling?”
There’s a moment of silence as War’s thumb taps the steering wheel. “We’re on campus. The bosses aren’t. If something happens to her in a Granthorpe bar, where will the blame fall?”
“If we’re there and do nothing, sure. But no one’s given us orders to keep an eye on her.”
He says nothing more on the subject, but there’s something unspoken hanging in the air.
I could choose to take War’s words at face value, but our family legacy is pretty fucking consistent. Exceptionally pretty looks were passed down the McAuliff line to Ash’s mother and my own. And when someone takes an interest in a girl with those looks, it’s rarely casual. Obsession and bloodshed show up far more regularly in the family history than is typical for most.
When we reach our street, the factory that’s been converted into a house looks like an asylum as we approach. Old brick. No windows. It’s not until War passes the street-side of the building and enters the waterfront parking lot that its true potential can be seen.
As I climb out of the truck, my attention travels to the newly built dock. Our canoe currently rests against the side of the house, but knowing I have a place to launch a boat from the property lifts my mood. I’ve always loved the water. Just more of the Irish calling to me, I guess.
