“Emergency meeting!” I bark, hoping my voice carries into the house as I storm in with the other two in tow. “Twenty minutes. And somebody make me something to goddamn eat while I’m in the shower.”
I swear I hear Fallow laughing softly behind me, but maybe that’s just the sound of blood rushing in my ears from humiliation.
Chapter Three
Colm
“Yes. Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll—Yes, I’ll keep an eye on him. He’ll be safe with us. Of course.”
I don’t even know what words are coming out of my mouth by the time I finish my ream of platitudes, but my ear is on fire from the tirade of profanity that was just hurled my way over the phone. As if any of this is my responsibility.
Mafia bosses are not exactly known for their cool tempers and rationality, but still. It’s not my fault he lost his… kid? Pet assassin? I’m still not clear on the relationship there, and unlike Fallow—who I can understand when I’m not distracted by drooling at him like a desperate wench—old man Murphy’s accent is impenetrably thick. Once I told him Fallow had turned up unannounced on my doorstep saying he had a message for me from the boss, Murphy told me that he was in fact very much not supposed to be here, and now we’re all in the shit.
So maybe the message isha ha fuck you, we’re all in trouble now, bitch.
At least I had the sense to take a shower and get dressed before I called, so I’m not still covered in gore and bodily fluids. I put on tactical pants, cleaner boots, and a thick black long sleeve under a flannel, because I have an abrupt urge to feel as covered as possible. Like if people look at me too closely, they’ll be able to see what I did today.
I’m not ashamed, per se. But even beyond the actual consequences of someone in the Banna knowing—which would be potentially catastrophic for me—it’s exposing as hell. None of this is like me.
Which makes me wonder immediately how much Murphy knows about who Fallow is and what he gets up to when he’s unsupervised. Because everything we did certainly didn’t seem like it was his first time, and none of it was behavior that goes down well in our circles.
Once I’m dressed and have received my verbal hiding, I have no excuse to put off going downstairs any longer. I trudge back down, looking for the guys and finding them all—for once—gathered in the war room, like I’d told them to.
All except one, that is.
“Where’s Fallow?”
Their eyes widen, and I realize I hadn’t actually introduced him earlier. Today really isn’t my day.
“That’sFallow?”
There’s so much derision in Lucky’s voice, which I’m assuming means he thought Fallow would be some kind of brick-shithouse killing machine. Rich, considering Lucky is one of the shorter guys here and well-muscled but not exactly a bodybuilder, and still insists he’s the baddest motherfucker this side of badtown or something.
“Yes. He’s our guest now, for the time being. Where did you put him?”
I don’t hide the lack of patience in my voice, and I can already see some of the guys are getting nervous. I’m not a particularly murdery boss, but I will be if I have to get my point across.
Briggs appears in the doorway to the war room, the same scowl on her face that I’m used to seeing. I’m assuming she wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine before she lost her husband and ended up living with a bunch of new criminals she mops up after, but if she was, she certainly isn’t anymore. She has deep lines on her face from a lifetime of smoking and glaring at people, made more noticeable by how tanned she is. Her skin has that weathered quality from spending every day outside and never having touched sunscreen. Her hair is bleached almost white and also brittle from the sun; but she has a steady, reliable presence to her, and while she’s not exactly soft, there’s something about her that gives a hint of the maternal. Or maybe what guys like us perceive as maternal.
Meaning she cooks for us, cleans up after us, and has no problem yelling at us when we get in her way. It’s close enough.
“I gave him some clothes and pointed him in the direction of a spare room to shower. He stank worse of blood and guts than the rest of you combined. Where the hell did you scrape that one up? Floor of the pork processors out on the 140?”
Her arms are crossed, and she’s leaning against the doorway like she has no intention of leaving. Technically, Briggs has no business being in here. She’s only permitted to live in her house as a courtesy but is unaffiliated with Banna operations.
Unofficially, she runs this house like she always has. I don’t fight it. There’s no upside for me trying to crush her spirit, she keeps the house together and keeps the boys in check. Suits me fine, if that’s what she wants.
I can’t stop myself from huffing as I turn and leave the room, pushing past her to go find Fallow. I stomp around the housewith long strides, looking into room after room until I find him in the kitchen.
As soon as I walk in there, I forget why I was driven by some angry intensity. Fallow is sitting on the counter with one leg tucked beneath the other. He’s wearing mismatched clean clothes that don’t really fit him, and somehow manage to make him look gangly, even though I know for a fact that his body is anything but.
He also must have shaved while I was on the phone, because his face is smooth now, matching the rest of his body. It makes the arch of his cheekbones and the dimple in his chin look even more pronounced, and brings an ethereal sort of quality to all those delicate features that already reeled me in.
He’s pretty. Beautiful, maybe, and it’s layered over a bunch of muscle and tension and bloodlust in a way I’ve never seen before. Even the sunshine is insisting on dappling through the goddamn window right now, casting him in a golden late afternoon light and completely confirming the derailment of my thoughts.
Why? Why now? I’ve spent my entire life without ever gazing adoringly at someone while they sit in a sunspot, so why the fuck is my brain searching for poetry for the first time now when both our lives are potentially on the line, I’ve got a house full of gangsters to run, and Fallow has made it clear that if I touch him again, I might lose a testicle?
Grossly unfair, universe.
