Kellin Brennan, Maeve’s new man, is an Irish King. He works for Finn Gallagher, the freshly minted leader of our East Coast counterparts. If I reveal that I kidnapped Finn’s sister, I’ll be the next one in captivity, with my nuts dissected from my body and shoved up my ass.
Probably by Finn himself, right before he chops off my dick and feeds it to a subway rat.
I wince at the grotesque visual. “It’s better if you don’t know.”
Before she can argue, the server reappears with my drink. I down the whiskey in three gulps and savor the burn.
“Fine. So what do you need from me?” Maeve dips a bit of bread in olive oil and takes a bite, covering her mouth while she chews.
“A safe place to hide out until all this shit blows over.”
“Give me your phone.” Maeve nods at my jacket pocket.
I shake my head. “Can’t. Lost mine. I need a new one.”
My sister shoots me an uneasy glance. She knows there’s a hell of a lot more going on than I’m admitting, but she doesn’t press me. “I’ll get you a burner.” She exhales softly. “And in the meantime, let’s see if I can find you someplace to lie low for a while.”
She fishes out her own phone and begins typing. When she slides the device toward me, a nondescript pin somewhere in the deserts of California stares back at me.
“It’s a safe house.”
“Occupied?”
She shakes her head. “Not for a few years, at least.”
“So it’s a rickety desert shack.”
She snorts. “I didn’t say that.”
Whether we’re talking about a dust-covered hut on a sand dune or a mansion off the Las Vegas strip, it doesn’t matter.
The quality of my accommodations doesn’t concern me right now. My real issue is that a small army of Russian mobsters has descended on California with the sole purpose of derailing my assignment.
I need to relocate Trinity and myself somewhere safe before doing anything else.
Once I talk to Declan, we’ll figure out what to do from there.
“Mind if I join you?”
I nearly jump out of my skin as the irritatingly smooth, deep voice of Kellin Brennan interrupts my thoughts. He was supposed to be out of town. Otherwise, I would never have come here.
Pressing a hand to my pounding chest, I flick my gaze up to his perfectly styled dark waves of hair and brown eyes a shade lighter than Maeve’s.
Sometimes I really hate his stupid supermodel face.
He winks at Maeve, who practically melts into the velvet cushions while I try not to puke.
“Not at all.” She beams and scoots to the next chair so Kellin can sit beside her.
Oh hell.Anything butMr. and Mrs. Mafia.
After they’ve share their whispered hellos and I’ve contributed an admirable amount of effort to stop my eyes from rolling right out of my skull, Kellin shifts toward me.
“Brody.” He keeps his expression calm and neutral, but the tension at the edge of his mouth gives him away. “Nice to see you.”
I pick up my cigarette and suck down another drag. “Kellin.”
This jackass might have come through and rescued my sister when the Russians grabbed her, but that doesn’t mean he’s good enough for Maeve, or that I fully trust him. Now that Maeve’s safe, I need to return to classifying him as what he is…an interloper. Declan would never allow otherwise.
