“Most likely.” She yanks me closer, eyes narrowing. “Don’t start.”
“I promise not to kill your mother.” Yet. “Even though she’s a colossal thundercunt.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got some weird form of Stockholm syndrome when it comes to her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t threaten her. Don’t even speak to her if it can be avoided. She’s still my mother—”
“Still a cunt.”
“—And you’ll hurt me if you touch her.”
I nod, knowing that, as much as I despise her mother, I would never do anything to hurt Katie. She knows it too, or she wouldn’t be using herself as a shield to protect the bitch. “I can’t even kneecap her, no?”
“Aiden!”
“Fine,” my jaw tics. “But if she starts—”
“You don’t hit women,” Katie interrupts.
“I can make an exception!”
She traps a growl low in her throat, turns, and marches for the door.
“Bug!” I call after her, she doesn’t turn back. “Katie!” I rush for the door, and I’m met with a flyaway middle finger. “I love you.”
“You’re an arsehole!”
“You knew that when you met me!” I catch up to her, grabbing her arm. “I promise, I won’t kneecap, stab, shoot, hit, kick, or strangle your mother.”
“I know you won’t,” Katie sighs. “And no pushing her down the stairs.”
“Now you’re tying my hands!” I bend, pressing my lips against the crook of her neck. “At least make good on your threat to tie me to the bedpost.”
Katie sniggers, her tension melting away as she leans into my touch. “Maybe later.”
“Do you still have that guy’s number?”
“What guy?”
“The tattoo artist.”
Her eyebrows shoot into her auburn hairline. “Cillian? What do you want with Cillian?”
“Thinking of getting another tattoo,” I trace the outline of her jaw with my finger. “Maybe something to remind me of you.”
Katie’s eyes soften, a smile playing on her lips. “Me?”
“You,” I plant a soft kiss on her lips. “My fiery little snuggle bug.”
Katie’s cheeks flush a rosy-red, her musical laugh makesme want to take her back to bed and never leave.
“Get ready, behave yourself, and maybe I’ll think about asking Cillian to squeeze you in. If he’s not scared away by your name, that is.”
“I can be a very good boy for you, bug.” I lean in to kiss her again, but I’m interrupted by my phone buzzing away in my pocket. “Go shower; I’ll catch up.”
Craig’s name flashes on the screen—not necessarily unusual but definitely not expected. “Craig Barnes, what can I do for you?”
He practically growls in response. “Why did Walsh try to hire one of our guys to keep tabs on you?”
“He did?” There is no point in asking if he allowed his men to take the job. He did say try. Most of the time, the answer is in his responses; he’s blunt like that. I wouldn’t be half surprised to find out he was on the spectrum too. I think he’d love Katie. “How much was he offering?”
