"Did the Doc check you over?" He’d been in pain when they returned to the house.
"Yeah. All good. A few drinks will help me sleep." With a dismissive nod, he beat a path to the family room, where we kept a selection of booze.
I sighed and headed back to my office to catch up on the paperwork. People thought life as a mafia boss was all glamor and violence, but in truth, most of my time was spent on boring admin shit.
No wonder Pa had stepped away and was now living his best life in Dubai. Honestly, I didn't blame him. Given a choice, I'd rather be anywhere but filling in spreadsheets for the accountants.
25
Verity
My phone buzzed, pulling me from a dream involving Ronan and Conal. Naked. When I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and opened them, I saw a message from Conal reminding me we were restarting my self-defense lessons this morning.
Fuck my life.
The last thing I felt like doing was hitting the gym with Mr. Grumpy, who'd barely said one word to me since he caught me in bed with Ronan. I wasn't sure what happened after I flew back to my room, but Conal had walked into the kitchen the following morning with one hell of a black eye.
Ronan had disappeared that same day, but he'd been messaging me ever since, which had eased my anxiety about his motives.
I wasn't sure what had taken him away within hours of Conal walking in on us. Some job he had to do for Declan, or so Mrs. O'Mara told me when I casually inquired. That was the point I tuned out of the conversation. Asking questions about the Kelly family's business was a bad idea. The less I knew, the better.
The pounding in my head increased exponentially. I desperately needed coffee. In the days since the accident, my bruises had faded, but I still had a recurring headache. Google said I might have a traumatic brain injury, but I decided Google was an ass.
Once I'd dressed in a pair of shorts, a sports bra, and a loose tee, I shuffled down to the gym, collecting a bottle of water on the way. Conal stood waiting, his mouth a flat line.
"You're late," he snapped, arms folded across his chest, drawing my attention to the broad expanse of muscle on display. His arm seemed OK now. Unlike me, he’d recovered quickly.
"Sorry." I walked to the bench by the mirrors and placed my water bottle there. When I turned around, Conal's jaw ticked in irritation at my tardiness.
He and Ronan were identical, but also different. Conal wore his hair shorter and whereas Ronan favored casual clothes, Conal liked to dress smarter. I'd always seen Conal as the nicer one of the two, but there were no smiles for me today.
"Warm up on the treadmill for ten minutes." The scowl on his face had my stomach roiling with anxiety. Was he mad at me? It sure seemed like it. A more confident woman would have insisted on a conversation to clear the air between us, but that woman wasn't me. Denial, deflection, and avoidance were my preferred dispute resolution strategies.
I nodded and jumped on the nearest treadmill, setting the speed to a slow jog. After five minutes, my gut cramped with nausea. Running and I were not compatible. With a body like mine, I wasn't built for athletic pursuits, apart from vigorous sex.
Now there was a fitness plan I could get on board with.
After ten minutes, I almost fell off the treadmill, cringing hard at the sight of my tomato-red face in the mirror. Red wasnot my color. It clashed horribly with the yellow tones in my complexion.
"Get on the mats," Conal barked, still refusing to look at me.Bastard.
My temper flared. How dare he slut shame me! It wasn't like I'd gone out of my way to fuck his brother. And besides, Conal had kissed me too before it all went to hell.
Was he jealous?
"Is that wise?" I looked pointedly at his shoulder. "I thought you'd hurt your arm."
"It's fine. I’m fully recovered. Do you remember what we practiced last time?"
I cast my mind back. A total blank. Conal rolled his eyes at my sheepish head shake.
"OK, I'll go back over the basics and then we'll move on to some other stuff. Nothing complicated," he added when he saw my alarmed expression.
We spent the next hour repeating the same simple moves. Again and again. If Conal's intention was to dumb this shit down, he'd earned himself a gold star. Even I had cracked it after 20+ repetitions, and I was now confident I could escape if an assailant grabbed me from behind or pinned me to the floor.
Possibly.
"Tomorrow, we're heading to the gun range." Conal's words caught me by surprise as I gulped down some tepid water. "Given recent events, it might be helpful if you can comfortably handle a gun."
