“Yes?” I say, even though it comes out more like a question.
His breath brushes warm and gentle over my neck. “That bullet tonight was from someone in Ernie’s scumbag crew. We did some digging after the party and found the bastard who shot at us, thanks to a contact of Ava’s,” he says quietly. “We took care of it.”
An icy sensation snakes through my insides. Not because of the danger. Because of thecasualness.
Those aren’t words of comfort or promises. They’re just logistics. Cleanup. Like what happened out there was a blip in his night instead of the moment my world tilted on its axis.
“That’s good,” I manage to choke out. My voice sounds stranger than the note ever did. “So we can end this soon.”
I close my eyes before he can read anything else in them.
Then I do the only thing that feels safe.
I lie perfectly still in Declan Murphy’s arms and pretend to sleep, while my truth claws relentlessly under my skin.
TWENTY-ONE
declan
She’s a pain.Jesus, she really is.
Last night we made love. We didn’t fuck like I’d intended when I found her in that outfit. And it undid me. Seeing her dressed like one of my many fantasies, the one of her being a secret, cheap slut for me and me alone in those stupid hot pink heels I got her, one where I’d fuck her hard, tie her up, open up the curtain, and turn on the light so she got that edge of exposure she craves.
I wanted to do dirty, filthy things that would make Satan fucking blush.
Things I’d have to book out the confessional booth for a few years in order to cleanse myself…if I actually followed my religion.
But when she looked at me…she really looked at me. It was like her soul was peeking out and I needed…needed to show her a softer side.
I didn’t lie about her being mine, she is. For now.
Marlowe did the right thing by reminding me it’s for now.
My head needs to be in the game. I’m protecting her and trying to figure outwhatever happened to her da.
I finish my breakfast and wash the plate, not wanting to leave a mess for our housekeeper, then pour a second cup of coffee when someone enters the room.
It’s not Marlowe because my heart and guts don’t twist. It’s Cal. He stands there in one of his dark suits. He eyes me in mine with a plain black t-shirt underneath.
“Yeah, I know. You think I should be wearing a button down, but it’s just a shakedown and?—”
“I’m helping you on your newest little job, Dec.” He pushes past me, swipes a cup, and fills it. “Just got off the phone with Roark. He gave me a tip on your girl’s da. Someone who buys and sells information. I’m coming along to make sure he gives us a fair deal.”
I clench my fist. “I can?—”
“Eejit.”He pats my cheek. “I know you can, but what’s better than one Murphy?”
“All of us,” I say.
He eyes me and leans his forehead close to mine. “You’re as fucking tough as us, but if something needs to be done, I’ll do it. Unless you have something to say about that?”
With a sigh, I bite my tongue. “Something to be done” means killing. I’ve killed. I’ve done plenty, but they all stop me from being one of them. From trying to be the most brutal.
He finishes his coffee and we head out. Cal slides behind the wheel of the black truck. Clive and a few others are inside the house, and though I can only see one or two outside, I’m betting there’s half an army I can’t spot. “What about Seamus and Tor?”
“Busy.”
“But—”
