I lean forward until there is barely a breath between us. “Touch me without consent during this op, Matthias, and I will put a bullet so far up you?—”
Liam slams a hand on the table. “Alright! Enough. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
Vas is laughing so hard he is wheezing. Even Nikolai, who has been doing an impressive act as a statue, shifts uncomfortably, ears red.
Matthias sits back, expression composed but his gray eyes burning.
“Alright,” he acquiesces. “We’re in.”
“My plan,” I remind him.
“My resources,” he counters.
“Fine,” I snap.
“Fine,” he snaps back.
Liams stands, muttering something about needing a whiskey.
Mark whispers to me, “I should start digging your grave now or later?”
I ignore him. Matthias is still staring at me like he is memorizing the shape of my defiance. Like he is furious. Like this…war between us is the first time he is seeing who I truly am, and it is making him feel alive.
And God help me…
I think I love it.
twelve
“You need training, Lass,” Liam scolds as I glare at him over a hot cup of coffee. It is the only thing saving my biological father from getting his eyes clawed out.
Four in the morning.
Who drags someone out of bed at four in the morning for training practice? Even six in the morning is pushing it but at least I wouldn’t be shooting him death glares and imagining ways to rearrange his face.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter as I abandon my magic bean elixir and lay down on the mat covered floor of the makeshift gym. The space in which McDonough’s sits is larger than I realized. From the outside, the bar is surrounded by what appear to be several separate businesses, when they are actually connected.
Two doors down, but connected by a long corridor, is a small boxing studio. On the other side is a gun store with an underground range and the Kavanaugh’s own them all. Plus, a few other businesses on the block as well.
“It isn’t ridiculous if it saves your life,” Kiernan growls as he throws a leg over my hip and straddles me, his knees pushing into me on either side. Pain spreads up my side from the leftover bruising, but he ignores my wince of protest. Instead, he smirks and says, “You’re not always going to be in the best fighting shape. You need to learn to move through the pain.”
Easy for him to say.
He grabs hold of both my hands in one of his and stretches them above my head.
“This is awkward,” I mumble uncomfortably.
“You’re making it awkward, sister,” he snaps heatedly. “We’re related and I’m teaching you a skill that could not only save your life but one of ours.”
“Well, excuse me, Mr. High and Mighty,” I snarl, my eyes cutting daggers at him. “But my last so-calledbrotherwasn’t nearly as chivalrous with his wandering hands. It is going to take me a bit to get rid of those images in my head.”
“You need to get over that,” my biological brother growls, his hand tightening on the ones he holds within his grasp.Yeah, sure buddy. Getting over psychological and physical trauma is as easy as snapping my fingers.
Poof.
Lola’s gone.
Wrong.
