“I don’t recall.” Aiden scratches at his chin thoughtfully, his smirk never wavering. “I was occupied that night.”
“Hiding bodies?” The tall one interjects with a sneer.
Aiden’s grin widens. “Taking a beautiful woman to bed, something you know nothing about.”
I snort, my finger itching to pull the trigger if either of these idiots make a move on my brother. I will most likely throw up afterwards. I’ve never had to use this thing, but I’m not opposed to the idea if that means protecting my family.
The tall one steps forward, brushing his dark hair out of his face. “If Walsh finds out that you have anything to do with it—”
“He’ll kill me.” Aiden chuckles, cutting him off. “I’d like to see him try.” He raises his gun ever-so-slightly. “Your boss has junkies and teenagers working for him. Most are too strung out to tie their own shoelaces. Those who can drive are barely old enough to reach the pedals.” He steps closer, his voice low and menacing. “I’ve seen the kind of people Walsh surrounds himself with. They’re weak and easily manipulable. But me? I’m not like them. I have soldiers in my corner with clean noses, hawk eyes, and steady hands. If it’s a fight Walsh wants, you best tell him to prepare for war because I won’t hesitate to bring him down and dismantle his empire brick by brick.” He cracks his neck and flexes his muscles, exuding an air of confidence and strength. “Now, I can call you a taxi or empty a round into your kneecaps and have you crawl out of here; which will it be?”
Well, if that’s not a way to say meeting adjourned, I don’t know what is.
I would allow my brother to piss off back to wherever he just came from, but I have questions, and he better answer them.I wait for Walsh’s goons to leave before turning to Aiden and demanding, “Who were you with earlier?”
He slides his gun back into the waistband of his trousers and smirks. “My better half.”
I raise a brow, waving my Glock through the air, inches in front of his face. “And that would be?”
He picks up his phone and starts texting, completely ignoring me.
“Do I, at least, know her?” I demand, practically contorting my body to get a glimpse at his phone.
He chuckles and looks up, finally acknowledging my presence. “You know her. She’s the reason I’m in this mess in the first place.”
“That’s of no help.” I’m pissed. Of course, I’m pissed. He’s withholding information. So I do what is in my right to do as the younger brother. I steal his phone and run like the wind.
17
KATIE
The feeling of falling wakes me up, and as I jolt awake, my heart thumping in my chest. Aiden moved, turning in his sleep, and pulling me with him. Stupid, gorgeous bastard. When he came back last night, he found me in the middle of a chaotic mess caused by my decision that it was a fantastic idea to rearrange my bedroom at 2 a.m.
If he didn’t think I was crazy before, I bet he does now.
Yet here I am. In the embrace of a man I hardly know anything about. A man who scares the living shit out of me as much as he makes me feel secure. And I’m staring at his fucking gun.
It’s a sleek, black handgun resting on the nightstand beside us. I can’t tell much else about it; I’m not exactly a gun person. It looks like the kind drawn in a law-and-order episode.
I don’t even know what we are. Aiden claimed that I was his, but that begs the question: What on earth does that even imply? Is he my boyfriend? Is this exclusive? I know that if most women saw their partner produce a handgun out of theblue, they’d be leaving a trail of dust behind as they ran for the door. But for some reason, I don’t feel that fear. There’s a strange sense of trust between us, even though I can’t quite put my finger on why. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me or the way he always seems to know what I need before I do. He’s been unbelievably understanding and supportive of me since finding out about my past trauma. He has never judged me or made me feel ashamed, which is something I’ve never experienced before. It’s like he sees the real me—the vulnerable parts that I’ve kept hidden for so long—and accepts them without hesitation. It’s something that makes me question his sanity.
Every “normal” person I’ve encountered flees from me. Either they get a glimpse of the real me when my mask slips, or they discover minor details about me and bail, but not Aiden. He has never treated me like damaged goods; instead, he seems to take a page from Wabi Sabi, covering all my broken bits in gold and making them beautiful.
“I can put it away if it bothers you,” he mumbles into the pillow, and most likely my hair.
His fingers trace over the sunflower tattoo on my right forearm; he knows where all of my scars are hidden beneath the vibrant ink.
“It doesn’t bother me.” It should, but it doesn’t. I look at the sleek body of the handgun; it is beautiful in its own twisted way. Much like the man with his arms wrapped around me. “You never told me why you needed it.”
“Never bring a knife to a gun fight. Besides, it’s always good to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” I wriggle out of his hold enough to turn and face him. “You said you don’t do drugs; you’re notinvolved with their trade. So why would you need a gun? Why did men show up at your restaurant with guns? What are you involved with? It’s clearly dangerous.”
His lips curve into a wry smile, his eyelashes fluttering open to reveal something dark beneath his gaze. “Anything else you want to ask?”
Yeah. Why are you so stupidly handsome in the morning?
“Why do you drive a middle-class car when we both know you’re worth a small fortune, or more?”
