“Flynn?” My voice cracks, needy, furious.
“Yes, trouble?” He has a dark grin, all predator.
Realisation hits; he’s stopping. Leaving me edged, aching, owned without release.
“You’ll pay for this, Brady.” I warn as embarrassment floods my cheeks.
He shrugs, sliding those licked fingers into his pocket like a trophy. “I’ll taste you on my skin till dinner, and you’ll be dripping the whole time.”
He turns back to his desk, dismissing me. “Kaden will handle anything you need. Order online; he pays.”
I’m halfway out, ready to snarl fuck off, when I remember. “My camera, do you have it?” He pauses, rises fluidly, muscles shifting under fabric, and heads to a closet. Pulls a box, stalks over, thrusts it at me. “Don’t snap at anyone in this house. Got it?” He orders, but it sounds more like a threat.
I nod, clutching it like armour, and storm out.
That bastard just edged me to hell, and he’ll pay for it.
Kaden is still seated in the same place. I stop right in front of him. He doesn’t look up from the book.
“Need anything?” His voice is rough, a thicker Irish accent curling at the edges. I notice the skull tattoo on the side of his neck, with a symbol. Looks military. I never noticed it before.
“Flynn said you’d get me clothes. And… other stuff I need.” I say, looking down at him. He’s a little taller than Flynn, and his skin is tanned.
“Rangers?” I ask. That gets his attention. He finally looks up.
“What?” He frowns.
I point to the tattoo, now realising it’s a skull with a harpy on the left side.
He smirks, tilting his head. “You’re smart.”
It doesn’t sound like a compliment. More like he’s filing it away for later. I cross my arms.
“Are you seriously just realising that now?” I wiggle my eyebrows, teasing.
He lets out a low chuckle. “You’ll drive Flynn insane.”
He stands, puts out his cigar in a marble ashtray.
“So. Rangers?” I press.
He looks down at me and just nods.
“Now I get why Flynn keeps you close all the time,” I murmur, trailing after him.
“It’s not only because of my good looks,” he says, deadpan.
I smirk. Kaden’s a beast. Rougher around the edges than Flynn or the Callaghans. He doesn’t look like money. He looks like hepunchedhis way up.
“So, how did you two meet?” I ask, following him down another hallway, passing the closed double doors that lead to Flynn’s office.
“We went to high school together.”
“Wow. So you went to a school for mobsters.”
He stops. I crash into him, nearly faceplanting.
“A school for mobsters?” He turns, smirking. Shakes his head. “Just normal high school. Me, him, Declan. I went to the army after, and we met up years later. I needed a job. He offered one.”
