He took a deep breath and nodded.
“I don’t like to listen to people. I don’t like to be told what to do. I frequently have to for one reason or another, but I hate it. People always try to shove me in a box. You literally shoved me in a locked room, but other than that.... You don’t try to make me be anyone I’m not. You don’t tell me to work in the library so I don’t jerk off or accuse me of being a degenerate because I love sex. And I’m certain you think I’m weird, but you don’t tell me to stop being that way. You’re everything I want in a partner.”
“Who did those things?” He scowled, and I smiled at him.
“I just... I love you. And okay, I’ve learned my lesson. If I think I shouldn’t go somewhere... I won’t. In my heart I knew better, but I wanted it to be okay. Mr. Killough said it would be okay, and I just... wanted to keep up appearances, I suppose.”
He pulled me close and dotted kisses along the nape of my neck, slipping his hand down my belly toward my dick. His body went rigid—not in a nice way that had anything to do with pleasure. I frowned, but then I heard it. It sounded like muffled voices—angry tones—from somewhere else in the house, maybe downstairs.
“Is that shouting?” Cillian asked and stared at the bathroom door.
I would have rushed right out to see what was wrong, but Cillian made me stop to get boxers out of Fallon’s dresser, and while I was there I stole a pair of his sweats and a T-shirt. He raced out and up the stairs to his room, presumably to toss on clothes. When I wasn’t naked, I ran out and down the stairs, almost tripping on the last step. I stumbled to the floor and grasped the railing with both hands.
“That’s gobshite!” Rowen roared at someone in the living room and my heart hammered harder. I stared at the wall that was keeping me from seeing what was going on. “Ye thick tool. I cannot believe ye have the nerve to walk into me house and say shite like that. Ye’re not only insultin’ yer brother, which is yer right, if ye want to be a twat. Ye’re insulting the rest of us, and that I won’t stand for.”
“You were supposed to show him the ropes, not turn him fucking queer.”
“You better rein that shit in.” Aspen’s cool tone had my pulse slowing—just a little. I almost died as I burst through the archway into the living room. A man stood over Fallon with his face shoved close to his—both blonds, I couldn’t help but note—and all I could see was the stranger’s muscular back. Like my men tended to do, he wore a sharp suit—but it was a deep gray none of my guys normally touched. We all knew how hurt Fallon was and I couldn’t fucking understand why Rowen and Aspen hadn’t already thrown this person out. If nothing else, Fallon didn’t need the stress.
“What the hell are you doing?” I stomped over and jerked on the man’s shoulder, and he shoved at me, already turning to swing. I barely had a chance to register anything beyond the fist steaming toward me. Rowen grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the way. The man was knocked off-balance because he connected with thin air and almost fell to one knee. Unfortunately he recovered and stood tall. I sucked in a breath. He looked so much like Fallon that they had to be related. Handsome. Regal nose. Beautiful mouth. But he had hate in his blue eyes, and looks were where the similarities clearly ended.
“He’s hurt. Stop that.”
“You must be the piece of ass we’ve been hearing about. Our father is not fucking impressed.” The man crossed his arms.
“Fuck off.” Fallon tried to get to his feet from where he sat on the couch, but it wasn’t going well and he ended up collapsing back onto his ass on the cushion. Rowen held me tight when I tried to go help Fallon again, and that left Aspen free, but he hesitated. Instead of kicking this jerk to the curb, he went to the couch and gently hauled Fallon to his feet, forcing the stranger to step back. Aspen brought Fallon over and sort of shoved him in our direction so that Rowen and I had to catch him, which had Fallon hissing in pain as he cradled his arm close to his chest. Aspen stood there between us and the man like some sort of guard. Another man nearby shook his head with his arms crossed, though he seemed embarrassed. I took him for another brother with all the similarities between them.
When Cillian walked into the room, he was in a suit, and I covered my mouth with my hand as he raised a gun and pointed it right between the eyes of the one who’d been shouting at Fallon.
“Padraig, I understand this is family business. I get that. Truly. But ye want to scream that shite in me house, where I live and fuck whoever I want, ye’re going to face some consequences.”
“I....” The man glanced quickly at Fallon, who only laughed, and I was shocked at a bloodthirsty part of myself I’d never known before rearing to an ugly life. Part of me wanted Cillian to shoot this man.
Who the hell am I becoming?
12
ASPEN
I blinked slowly at Cillian,not exactly surprised he’d resorted to guns. Usually Sloan didn’t like it when we pointed weapons at men in our own mob, but this was an exception I was willing to allow. I’d never liked Padraig Maher to begin with. He enjoyed the sound of his own voice too much and thought he walked on water. The attitude was enough to make any man irritated, and when we’d first been told we’d be taking Fallon on as a protégé, we’d expected the same thing from him. Except Fallon wasn’t anything like Padraig. He talked a lot and didn’t know when to shut up, and he flirted with every man he came across—but he never thought he was better than me.
Cillian smirked. “Do ye want to die, Padraig? Because I’d rather not have to take a second shower, but I’ve already slaughtered a man today, so why not make it a rousing success and kill another one?”
The apple in Padraig’s throat bounced and he straightened, smoothing his hands down his suit jacket. He looked presentable, flawless, like a real Killough man, but his hands gave away the truth: he’d never gotten dirty. As far as we knew, he had no body count; he used his charisma to charm people into doing what he wanted. His face was flawless, and he looked more like a model than a mobster with those high cheekbones. The blond locks that fell around his shoulders were glossy—like Fallon’s.
“I came to talk to my brother,” Padraig said slowly and carefully, as though trying not to spook a wild beast, and that wasn’t too far off the mark from Cillian today. He had that crazy gleam in his eyes, the one that said he craved blood and guts and making a mess of human insides. He very rarely got like this, but when it came to protecting what was his, he could go to extremes. Vail had been hurt by that fucking cop we’d already dealt with, but now Padraig was here and was a threat.
Cillian’s mouth curled dangerously into a half snarl. “Is that what ye call it? Sounds like ye’re insulting him, and us, and Vail. That’s not fucking talking. How about ye try again?”
Fallon winced, his knee nudging my leg. I could feel how much he wanted to go and face off with his brother, but he wasn’t healthy enough. His eye looked like hell and the rest of his bruises were deepening. One particularly purple mark on the right side of his neck bled into his collarbone and under the collar of the black T-shirt he wore. His hair was a mess and he stank like sex.
I touched his shoulder gently, not squeezing so I didn’t hurt him, and he sent me a pleading stare, which made me shake my head. It was better to let Cillian and Rowen handle Padraig.
Fallon’s other brother, Grady, stood off to the side, arms crossed and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Grady wasn’t as bad as Padraig and most of the guys in the Company liked him, but he also wasn’t the type to stand up to his older brother. In the Maher family, Padraig ruled. His parents had ruined him.
Padraig’s jaw tightened and he stood taller. Bad move. Cillian would take that as a challenge.
I wasn’t wrong. Cillian’s snarl deepened and his grip on the gun tightened. “Yer choice what happens next.”
