Kilian’s focus returned to the street below the back office. “Some suppliers are coming in tonight—a couple of Americans,” Kilian managed to say the word without a shred of contempt, but there was a slight narrowing of his eyes as he followed something—a van, Daniel guessed—through the frame of the window. The brief excitement in Kilian’s eyes had disappeared. He lowered the chair legs back down onto the hardwood flooring and a taut thread running through both of Daniel’s shoulders released. “Dad’s picking up the deliveries now that the police aren’t policing imports as heavily.”
Daniel stifled a humorless laugh, looking down at the paperwork he thought he’d caught up on. He placed the cap back on his pen, letting it fall from his hand and onto the desk. It was difficult to feel like he was making any progress lately; each time he turned around, Rory Kelly’s piercing blue eyes were there to entice him into another life-altering decision. As if Daniel—or any of the Kelly children, really—had had much of a choice in denying their father anything.
Feeling his chest rise and fall rapidly, Daniel lifted himself from his chair behind the desk and met Kilian at the window. Below them, cars passed by without so much as a curious glance in the direction of the pub.
“What are they bringing with them?” Daniel asked, watching as a black van flipped their blinker on, lined up on the other side of the two-lane road with the driveway up to the pub’s small loading dock.
Kilian rose from his seat, stretching like a cat who had just been napping in a sunny spot. He didn’t look over at his brother, keeping his pointed nose firmly lodged in the air as he watched the van pull into the parking lot and disappear from the window. “Supplies,” his brother retorted, stepping around him.
There was a fresh tickling sensation in the front of Daniel’s chest when he realized that Kilian didn’t know the specifics about the shipment either—or that he wasn’t at liberty to disclose that information. Instinctively, Daniel blamed their father for it. He absentmindedly went to straighten the piles he’d formed out of invoices earlier, pushing them together until they lined up exactly.
As if sensing the reluctance in his brother’s actions, Kilian continued recounting his knowledge of tonight’s shipment. “Dad assured me it’s all imported goods—we’re not talking about any of the hard stuff that people do real time for.” His hand was warm on Daniel’s shoulder. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Thanks,” Daniel said. He'd always known Kilian to be rough around the edges and had, without realizing it, assumed he would follow this type of path at some point in his life. Now that he was closer, Daniel could easily make out the long lines of pearly scar tissue on his face. He wasn’t confident in his ability to recognize past injuries based on the scars they’d left, but there was an icy certainty in his stomach that told him his brother had been struck with brass knuckles at some point. Despite his brother’s obvious affinity for playing both sides of the law, he’d also proven himself to be a reliable brother. In a strange way, Daniel felt like this line of work had pulled him out of the rut he’d been in as a law-abiding citizen. Even though he didn’t like admitting it, Daniel knew that Kilian never would’ve been this happy working for just the one side.
The sound of car doors shutting carried up through the open window of the office. The two brothers moved towards the door. Kilian outstretched his hand, nearly wrapping around the silver handle when there was a soft knock at the door. Kilian paused, turning to look at Daniel to share an expression that seemed to ask who thehellhad managed to get into the pub after them—Daniel stared on as the doorknob began to turn.
He saw the vibrancy of her red curls before Caitlin’s face came fully into view. Her cheeks were ablaze, as if she’d just finished running here from her flat. Her breath was relatively even, but there was a soft sheen on her forehead. She smiled politely at both men, clearly too exhausted to question why they were standing right beyond the door, before nodding to Daniel curtly.
“Can I get your help?” she asked, wiping at the small droplets of sweat on her brow. “I need another pair of hands to bring in some crates I ordered.” Her hands lifted to collect her hair as she retreated from the doorway with purpose in her step.
The brothers traded a look before Daniel took off after Caitlin.
13
Daniel
Daniel carriedthe box of beer nuts down the steps to the cellar below.
He remembered coming here as a child and the way the damp air clung to his skin. He had to convince Sophie and Caitlin that there was a ghoul down here that would pick the skin from the bones of unwitting little girls too curious for their own good.
Looking over his shoulder at her now, it amazed him how quickly the time had gone. No longer children, but rather adults caught in a love affair without any real rules or labels.
She lowered a heavy box to the ground and her curtain of red hair fell forward, shielding her face from the lamp light. “It’s so much easier when I have help with these things,” she said, rising back up and stretching her arms above her head.
He couldn't help but smile. At five feet tall, she was a tiny thing. She had always been little, and he never let her forget it. He would affectionately come in and call her ‘midget’ in childhood, and would have continued it to do so into adulthood. His own mother had boxed his ears each time she overheard his pet name.
“What is it?” she asked. She lowered her hands and offered him a slow smile.
“Nothing. Just thinking about how short you are.”
That did it. The smile quickly disappeared and hard frown lines marred her freckled face. “The correct term is petite.” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.
Her figure drew his eyes and had him thinking once again of what they shared together. He imagined pulling her body against him and taking her on the cellar floor. “Petite,” he agreed as he snuck closer to her, closing the distance and wrapping his arms possessively around her waist.
“And you’re no Goliath, yourself,” she said as she pressed a finger to his chest.
He had to agree. He had grown mostly early. At twelve, he had shot clear up to five foot nine, all within the space of a year. He'd grown so quickly, his mother refused to buy him a new wardrobe, claiming there was no point if he was just going to keep climbing like one of those American sequoia trees. The rest of the class, his brothers included, continue to grow tall at a slow and steady rate. He never grew again. “Still nine inches above you. Granted, that's nearly a foot,” he said and rested a hand easily on top of her red hair.
“You'll want to remove your hands if you intend to keep them,” she growled and his smile only widened.
“I do you love your fire, Caitlin Margaret Murphy,” he murmured. He lowered his lips carefully to hers until he was sure that she wouldn't strike like a viper waiting for prey. He fixed his mouth on hers in a slow, hungry kiss. And as she wrapped her own arms around his waist, pressing her nimble body to his own, he groaned as he grew hard. “What if we lock that door?” he murmured.
They were interrupted by the door springing open and rapid footsteps down the stairs. “Oh good, you're down here!” called the blonde waitress, whose name he had yet to learn.
“What is it?” Caitlin asked, tucking her long waist-length hair behind her ears.
“There's a man here for you. An American.”
