Page 11 of Dirty Legacy

“You realize this is an actual investment, right? Nothing illegal?”

“Doesn’t matter. Can’t hurt to be paranoid.”

Marcus laughs at that and throws back his drink. He’ll be satisfied for a few days, at least until he decides I’ve had enough time to make up my mind, then he’ll be back in here jamming his ideas down my throat. Which is fine, I can handle him, and I need men like him pushing the family into the future. That’s how I’ve managed to take the Maguire crew, barely more than a smattering of car thieves and burglars, and turn it into one of the largest and most thriving families in New York.

There’s always more business to do. WashCo’s one thing, but the Maguire holdings are expanding. It’s a dangerous game, getting big in a city like this, but I thrive on the competition. Let the other families worry. Let them dream of putting a bullet in my head.

Can’t kill me if they’re all dead.

“Seriously, what’s got you so distracted?” Marcus slumps back into his chair. Now that the portfolio’s on my desk and his pitch is finished, he can go back to being my friend. A clear division of labor.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Heard that before. You worried about the Whelans? They breathing down your neck again?”

I shake my head. “I got a meeting with Declan in an hour but I’m not worried about it.”

“Then what’s the deal?”

Angie’s the fucking deal. The three images still on my hard drive. My dick’s sore from how many times I’ve beaten myself off to her in the last twenty-four hours, ever since I took her on my couch ten feet away.

“Business,” I grunt at him, which is clearly not true, but Marcus decides to let it pass.

He knows me too damn well. When I decide I’m stubborn about something, there’s no changing my mind. My mother, God rest her soul, used to kiss my cheek and tell me I’d better learn to roll or else get smashed like a rock in the road. I think it made more sense in Gaelic or something.

We finish our drinks and Marcus lets himself out. I skim the proposal and have to admit it’s tempting. I’ll want to meet with the other investors, speak with the property manager, tour the building myself, but Marcus already did most of the groundwork. By the time I’m done reading, I have fifteen minutes to get over to the Whelan house.

It’s late, well past eight at night, and the office is empty. Even still, I swear there’s a light on in accounting. If I close my eyes, I can hear Angie typing, hear her laughing with that Russian friend of hers, Natalia or whatever. I can taste her again, feel her moans against my tongue, and I force myself to get the hell out of there before I end up on my knees sniffing the seat of her chair like a pathetic dog.

Wouldn’t be the first time, either.

I’ve been so good for so long. It was easy, back in the day. Angie was young back when I first got involved in her life. But she’s grown up, and I’ve tried to keep seeing her as that teen hero who deserved more than she got, but I couldn’t do it. Angie morphed into a beautiful young woman against my goddamn wishes.

That resolve shattered when I saw the email.

I swear, clicking that attachment, I had no idea what I was about to find. I would’ve deleted the fucking thing if I had known. It was like a crack addict getting a fresh hit after being clean for a few months. Looking in that folder and seeing Angie’s sexy face gazing back at me, her body twisted and posed, partially covered and fully bare, it straight up ruined me. Broke whatever was left.

I never should have responded. I almost didn’t. I stared at her all day, fighting with myself, until the words came out on their own.

Fuck, and now that it happened?

What the hell am I going to do?

I’m already desperate to see her again.

But Angie’s not part of my world. She brushed against it once, a long time ago, and I owe her more than she realizes, but I won’t risk drawing her closer. Bad enough, giving her a job at WashCo, but this is my legitimate side.

If I started seeing her regularly? If my enemies ever found out about her?

No, there’s a reason I don’t get involved.

By the time I park near the Whelan family manor, I’ve managed to push Angie to the back of my head. She won’t stay there; that girl is like a wolf prowling at the bars of its cage, and she’ll break out sooner or later. Alone, late at night, she’ll come to me in a flash, and I’ll have my fist around my cock, eyes fixed on those three fucking pictures like a junkie.

How long can I last like this?

“Connor! Declan told me you were coming and I almost didn’t believe it.” A beautiful woman with thick auburn hair greets me at the front door to the Whelan house. It’s a massive brownstone in Hell’s Kitchen, though they have properties all over the city.

“Hey, Casey. It’s good to see you.”