“Freak,” he mutters, retreating fast through the gate.
I grip the shovel handle, thrilling vibrations traveling up my arm. I don’t relax until I can no longer smell those greasy fries.
Yuck.
Seconds later, all is quiet. My garden is mine again, safe and ordered. The bees are buzzing, and a pigeon coos overhead.
“You see that, Thorn?” I whisper to the rose bush, brushing a leaf with the back of my hand. “I am not useless.”
Mrs. Kaplan goes back to her garden, snickering, “Good one, an Irish assassin boyfriend. I’ll say mine is Italian if that idiot comes back.”
“I really don’t need my boyfriend to fight my battles,” I say, gathering my tools. “See ya, Mrs. K.”
Tired and achy, I walk around the corner to go home. Dirt caked under my nails, mud smears on my cheek, but I don’t care. The shovel’s weight is a comfort against my shoulder.
I reach my building and smile at the doorman who opens the vestibule door for me.
“Good day, Miss Nova.”
“Hi,” I say, forgetting his name.
An elevator car waits as it usually does, and it climbs fifteen stories to my floor. I try to count, but there’s no display indicating the ascending floor numbers. It’s something that annoys me. I count everything.
The elevator door opens on my floor. Walking down the corridor, I let my eyes stray to Rhys Quinlan’s apartment right next to mine. My neighbor’s thick, custom-made door looms heavy, forming the kind of barrier a man likehim needs to protect what’s inside.
I pause in front of it, pulse tripping, dirt on my skin, shovel still in my grip.
The elevator dings, and I shake away the buzzing in my head. My heart skitters to a complete stop seeing my tall, muscled, and devastatingly handsome boyfriend step off.
Ah…
Rhys Quinlan towers in the corridor. His blue suit jacket stretches over wide shoulders, his jaw sharp enough to cut stone. His eyes are golden in color, but rimmed with exhaustion.
“There’s my boyfriend,” I say, the words slipping out warm and certain.
Rhys stops dead in his tracks, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Excuse me?”
“You’re back.” I blink. “From work.”
Killing people…
I know he’s an assassin for the Irish Mob, run by his cousins Griffin, Connor, and Shane, because I stole his mail a couple of years ago. And I’ve been listening through the walls.
I have the whole skinny on this guy.
His gaze flicks to the shovel in my hands. “What are you doing with that?”
I clutch it tighter, chin lifting. “Some guy at the community garden harassed me. Called me crazy. I swung the shovel at his head to scare him off. It worked.”
“Someone bothered you?” The spark that ignites in Rhys’s eyes isn’t pity. It’s anger.
Controlled, severe, and aimed at the faceless man I chased away.
See? Proof. He cares about me. I’m sure he wants to protect me. But that’s his job, and he doesn’t want to do it all the time. It would be the same for me if I worked at Connor’s Candy Emporium. I love candy, but don’t wantto be around it all day.
“I handled it,” I say quickly, my voice low. “I know how to defend myself.”
“That’s good.” Rhys exhales, long and tired.
