I nod, surprised I’m not arguing, but I trust Rory to take the lead on this. I’ll do what he says.
He grabs me by the collar, pulls me close and gives me a hard, claiming kiss. “Let’s fucking go.”
My heart takes off like his words just lowered the white flag and it’s in a race. It’s dark out, cold as shit as we walk down the street toward Bruce’s place. Honestly, it’s not much nicer than our trailer. I have no clue what he does with all his money, but it definitely doesn’t go toward keeping his house in order.
It’s not a trailer, but a small, brick, ranch-style home. One of the windows is covered with cardboard, making me wonderwhat’s going on in there. The lights are off, only one car in the driveway.
“Looks like he’s all tucked into bed.” Rory practically bounces, his body moving like there’s too much going on inside him and he can’t stay still. It’s…cute. We’re in a scary situation, but it’s still cute.
“Works for us,” I reply.
He up-nods toward the house. “Camera,” Rory says but doesn’t seem too worried about it.
On the porch, he pulls something out of his hoodie pocket and begins picking the lock.
“Well, at least now I know how you get into my place,” I tell him, and he gives me the widest, giddiest smile that makes my heart beat even faster.
“I like to watch you sleep.”
“That’s…” Weird? Wrong? “Hot,” I reply, and he chuckles.
It takes him no time at all to get us inside. Rory turns on the phone flashlight, so I do the same. The house is a fucking pigsty, dirty plates on end tables, beer bottles everywhere, two bongs, coke on the coffee table.
“Motherfucker better not be selling around here,” Rory says.
Because of course that would be where his mind goes.
Blood rushes through my ears with each step we take. We each have our gun in hand, Rory walking quietly down the hallway, looking in each room. They’re all empty of people but full of shit. He points toward the last door.
I nod. Rory turns the light off, slipping his phone in his pocket, and I do the same, then follow him to the room. He rushes in, gun in front of him, and flicks on the light.
Bruce is in bed, his bodyguard who is clearly not just his bodyguard beside him. They jerk up, the bodyguard going forthe gun on the nightstand, but Rory says, “Nope. I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ll shoot a hole in your fucking hand and then kill you slowly. Hands up.”
“Fuck you,” Bruce says to him—or maybe to me—but they both do as Rory says.
“Get that for me, will you, pet.”
I grab the gun from the nightstand, make sure the safety is on, then shove it into my hoodie pocket.
“Who the fuck are you?” Bruce spits out.
“Oh, this is fun. You don’t know. I love it when they don’t know.” Rory’s voice has kicked up a notch, like again, he’s trying to hold in too much energy. “Rory Fitzpatrick, nice to meet you. I’d shake, but you know, I’m holding a gun on you.”
I bite back a laugh.
“This is a big mistake. Fucking huge,” the bodyguard says.
“You know, I don’t think it is. My name might not ring any bells, but Tiernan O’Shea probably does, or Rian O’Shea.”
Recognition shows on their faces, shock on Bruce’s, his jaw clenching.
“Yeah, I thought you’d know them. I’m with them, and he’s mine.” He points to me. “You know who he is, right? He rents a trailer from you. You’ve threatened him, taken advantage of him, and honestly, Bruce, that pisses me off. You probably don’t know this about us, but we take care of what’s ours.”
Ours, ours, ours.
I like Rory claiming me, more and more each time he does it. I see now why Ollie likes it from Cillian.
“Fuck him, and fuck that bitch of a mother of his. Stupid whore tried to blow me instead of paying me, and you’re here defending them?”
