Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brendan
I ’ve lost my fucking mind. With Nora slung over my shoulder and squawking for me to put her down, I punch in the security code to Tag’s loft. When the door grants me access, I hurry inside, set Nora down, take her phone, close the door behind me, and hit the panic button to lock the place down tight.
Fucking hell.
I fucking kidnapped my girlfriend—well, my potential girlfriend.
Not that there’s much potential now, since she’s seen the monster I am.
I groan and press my back against the door, frowning. What the fuck do I do now? I need to explain to her what happened…to make her understand. I need time with her to fix this.
That’s all I was thinking on the walk over here. Tag’s loft is close to the gym and has been empty since he met Laine. It’s secure, and it’s private, and I need that so I can figure out a way through this.
Because despite what Nora said, we are not a mistake. That truth resonates to the depths of my dark, aching soul. And seeing the despair warring with desire in her eyes when she said it—she doesn’t believe it either.
Not really.
Well, that was before I fucking kidnapped her.
Fucking hell!
I send a quick text to Tag, to let him know it’s me who accessed his private space and not some random intruder. Then I send one to Sean, asking him to send a couple of Devils to pick up the heap of human garbage I left in the alley by the gym.
The fucker was stalking my girl.
The blonde?
Aye. Find out who he is and what the fuck his intentions were.
You got to her in time?
Barely.
I slide my phone and Nora’s into the pocket of my jacket and zip it shut. Nora is standing on the other side of the open entrance, her arms crossed, her heaving breasts threatening to pop free of the corset that’s barely containing her lush curves.
Now is not the time to be focused on that.
“I’m sorry about this, angel, but I just want to talk.”
I step toward her and for the second time, she retreats. “You need to let me go, Brendan. You’re scaring me. I want to leave.”
I hold up my hands and curse inwardly. There’s so much blood.
Dammit. Every time she looks at me, her gaze widens and another wave of panic washes over her. I need to get cleaned up, so I stop spooking her.
“I never wanted this part of my life to touch you. I understand that you’re freaked out, but know that I’m just as freaked out and I’m trying to figure out how to fix this and get back to where we were.”
Her face pinches. “Get back to where we were? You mean when I didn’t know you were a prince of mafia brutality and lying to me about everything?”
“I didn’t lie to you. Not once. Not ever.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. I fight the urge to grab her by the arms and force her to believe me. Fuck. After the events of the night—the cage fight, hearing Nora scream, racing through the streets searching for her, and then unleashing on her stalker—I’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through me I’m dangerous.
Not that I’d hurt Nora—not in a million years—but I won’t help my case if I lose my shit, either. She needs time to process what happened outside.
I sweep a hand through the air, gesturing around the place. “Make yourself at home. You may not be happy about being here, but you’re safe. I’m going to clean up and then we can talk. Just know that nothing I ever said or did was a lie. I didn’t tell you everything—I own that—but like you said, I’m the prince of mafia brutality. That’s something you ease into. Especially with someone special who I really fucking care about.”
I read the skepticism in her gaze, but it’s the truth.
Leaving her to think about that, I head into the main bedroom to grab a quick shower. I’ll never convince her I’m worthy of her forgiveness while covered in the blood of a scumbag.
Maybe that’s the truth of it.
Maybe I’m just not worthy of her.
Nora
What the hell is happening? Leather creaks as I flop onto the expensive couch. It faces a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the river, and I wonder how much a view like this would cost. Not that the price tag would put a dent in the Quinn piggy bank—or the vault is more accurate. I’m sure the Quinns could buy up the entire riverfront and not bat an eye.
And why is my brain stuck on the cost of riverfront property?
I’m losing it, that’s why.
I’m still shaking like a nervous puppy after the big Brendan Quinn revelation, then being chased through the backstreets, then kidnapped by Brendan. A shiver wracks through me. I grab a gray throw off the back of the couch and pull it over me. Are the shivers a result of the night wind or shock? When will my mind catch up with my reality? Can this even be called reality?
Brendan is a Quinn. He saved me twice and then kidnapped me…
Only, it doesn’t really feel like kidnapping.
One look into those haunted emerald eyes told me Brendan was in a full-scale panic when he grabbed me. The man who worried about me and went out of his way to make me smile is still there…under all that blood.
I push that thought out of my mind and decide to step back from the violence of the night and not panic. He was protecting me.
Would my father have done things any differently?
He might’ve thrown a few less brutal blows before dragging him into one of his task force interrogation rooms. Which, I’ve learned, isn’t that much safer than a darkened alley for the wrong sort of person.
And that guy was definitely the wrong sort of person.
I’ve seen enough of my father’s work photos to recognize prison ink. But what would an ex-con want with me? Was it random or was it tied to my association with Brendan, and by extension, the Quinns?
Was I was just an unlucky lady walking alone at night? Kate said the Quinn event is well known. A newly released prisoner might think mugging one of Dublin’s rich and powerful could lead to a big payout.
He picked the wrong girl. Sucks to be him.
I groan and pull the fabric against my eyes. Da will lose his mind when he hears I was walking alone at night.
Stupid. I must be smarter than that if I have any chance of convincing him I’m ready to live on my own. As the adrenaline of the night drains away, exhaustion takes its place.
It’s been a sad and shitty week and has taken its toll.
I believe Brendan when he says I’m safe here. How can I not be? This loft is a freaking fortress. At first glance, this space is all granite and chrome, sleek and masculine, like a man who knows how to handle his shit.
The kitchen island stretches out in front of a leather seating area, perfect for some serious meal prep or late-night drinks with friends. Everything here screams power and control—modern furniture, minimalist art on the walls, and the best part? The view.
But that isn’t what makes me sure this place is a fortress.
When Brendan hit a button on the control panel inside the door, there was a cascade of clicks and snaps and high-pitched whines throughout the space that seemed to signal that this place is now in lockdown.
And with Brendan confiscating my phone—I’m going nowhere fast.
For now, I’m at the mercy of Brendan Quinn.
I slide sideways on the couch, yawn, and stare out the window. Dublin at night is beautiful, the waters of the River Liffey shimmering under the city lights. Can I make this city my home now that Tanya is gone and my sweet protector turned out to be one of the men my father intends to destroy? I doubt it.
Even the thought of that squeezes my heart.
I may be as na?ve as my father accuses me of being, but I know a bit about the landscape of the Dublin organized crime scene. The McGuires lead with a physical force while the Quinns have their code of conduct—The Quinn Laws.
No killing in the streets.
Don’t impact the innocent.
Protect and support local business.
No involving minors…
Thinking about minors makes me think about the fundraiser. The Quinn family was pulling all the stops out to raise money for street kids tonight. Before I found out it was a Quinn event, I’d been impressed by the dedication. Now that I know it was a Quinn event, I don’t know if I’m more or less impressed.
From everything my father has always said about the families behind organized crime, they care for nothing but money and power.
I don’t get that at all from Brendan.
Am I so dickmatized that I’m not seeing things clearly? Can I be dickmatized when all we’ve done is kiss? Well, I’ve felt the big boy pressed against me and that was enough to scatter my neurons, so it’s possible.
I groan and pull the blanket over my head. Imagining Brendan’s cock is so unhelpful. If I’m to get out of this mess, I need to focus on the facts and discount all input given from my girl parts.
“There, sorry.” Brendan rushes out of the bedroom with a towel around the back of his neck, rubbing his damp hair with one hand. He’s shirtless, and holy mother of all things sexy, he’s got a tattoo of a Celtic knot over his heart and his abs look like they’ve been chiseled by Michaelangelo or Rodin.
And that pelvic V…artistic perfection.
Unbidden, my gaze drops lower. Gone are the bloody gray sweatpants he was wearing, replaced by low-slung black jogging pants that look to be two sizes too small and unable to hide his incredibly impressive…
“Keep looking at me like that, angel, and I’m going to skip right over the apologies and fuck you on my brother’s couch.”
I snap out of my lusty daze and swallow. “Mighty sure of yourself, Mr. Quinn.”
His mouth lifts on one side in a cocky, uneven smile. “Of you and me? Of the attraction that’s kept both of us buzzing all week? Aye, I am. Tell me, angel. Have you pleasured yourself in the dark with my name on your lips this week? How many times?”
I can’t go there because despite me knowing who he is, there’s no getting around who I am and what my father’s work means for Brendan and his family. Instead of thinking about that, I change the subject. “Not your clothes, I take it.”
Brendan shrugs, his appearance obviously low on his priority scale in his post-shower rush to get back to me. “This is Tag’s place. He’s not as bulky as Bryan and I are. But all my man bits are covered, so I figured you’d appreciate that much, at least.”
I appreciate him considering that, but honestly, from what I’ve seen of Brendan’s body so far, I wouldn’t hate it if he had come out here ready to pose for a nude life drawing session.
Cue a rush of dirty images bombarding my mind.
Why did none of our session models look like him while I was in school?
I give myself an inward shake and focus. “Brendan. You need to let me go. And when I say that, I’m not talking about you bringing me here against my will, I mean that whatever was building between us has to stop.”
He hangs the damp towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and strides into the kitchen. His back is as sexy as his front. As he walks, I study the muscular flex and pull of his lats and shoulders. Damn. He has another tattoo on his right shoulder blade. It’s a stylized Q with knotwork and a shamrock.
When he turns around, he catches me drooling and winks.
My skin blooms with heat and my breath catches in my throat.
“I know you think my last name changes everything, angel, but I’m still the same guy you’ve been flirting with all week. The only difference is that now you know my family comes with some baggage.”
“Some baggage? Brendan, you’re a mafia mobster.”
He makes a face. “That’s not very PC of you, Miss Kelly. I’m not a mobster.”
I roll my eyes. “My apologies, what would be the politically correct term for the musclebound enforcer of a mafia family?”
“I prefer being called a physically persuasive person of influence.”
“Brendan. You kill people.”
He rears back, looking affronted. “No, I don’t. I’m not a triggerman—I’m an enforcer. There’s a big difference.”
Is there? I don’t know as much as I thought I did. Hope buds inside me for the flash of a moment, but then I realize nothing has changed. Whether or not he kills people, my father will still destroy everything Brendan cherishes.
And he doesn’t know.
He pulls a black T-shirt over his head, covering the stunning planes of muscled skin and the Celtic tattoo. It takes him a bit to work his muscled arms into the sleeves and several thread cracks warn the shirt doesn’t fit him any better than the pants. If I were channeling a little more of Tanya’s spirit, I’d tell him to leave it off and spare the fabric the trouble of containing him.
He sinks into the club chair set perpendicular to the couch and leans forward. “I told you I work for my family’s business and that I handled discipline and ensuring people followed protocol. That is the truth.”
I shiver and pull the blanket closer around me. “So, you’ve never killed anyone?”
“I…well, I have…but no one who wasn’t actively trying to kill me. I like to think I make the world a better place.”
Uh-huh . Well, that’s not how my father or his task force will look at it.
I yawn and slide down the couch a little to lay my head on the pillow.
“You look fucking amazing tonight, by the way.” He offers me a sad smile and points to his split lip. “You totally blew my concentration. This is actually your fault.”
I wince at the swelling, remembering the horror of watching that hit. Brendan’s gaze was locked on me when Paddy the Predator punched him so hard, Brendan’s head spun. “I don’t understand why you’d voluntarily climb into a metal cage and let someone beat you.”
He chuckles. “I enjoy it.”
“How can that appeal to you on any level?”
He takes a moment and seems to consider that. “There are a bunch of reasons: I’m good at it, people enjoy watching the show, my twin and I raise a lot of money for the kids, and, for those fifteen minutes I get a rush from the challenge of coming out on top.”
I don’t pretend to understand, because I’m too tired to think. All I want to do is curl up and push reality off until the morning. Then I can deal with Brendan and my father, and…
“Oh, I need to text my father. If I don’t come home and he doesn’t know where I am, he’ll have the entire garda force looking for me.”
Brendan frowns. “You’re twenty-six, right? Does he still keep tabs on you that closely?”
“You have no idea. Kate and Tanya named him Jordan the Warden.”
He arches an ebony brow, pulls my phone from his pocket, swipes the screen, and lifts my finger to press the unlock. “All right. What do you need me to say?”
I sigh. “You don’t trust me to do it myself?”
He shakes his head. “Sorry. It would be too easy for you to turn the tables on me. I need time to show you we’re good together and prove myself worthy of you.”
I close my eyes. “And what if you being Brendan Quinn is insurmountable?”
“It’s not. I’m going to prove that to you.”
I wish that were possible . “Fine. Just text him that I’m checking in as he asked and staying at Kate’s tonight.”
His thumbs brush over my phone, and then there’s the whooshing sound of a text being sent. “Now what? Anyone else?”
“Actually, yes. Send one to Mrs. Hackenbush. Tell her I have a stomach bug and won’t make my shift in the morning. I can’t deal with the library tomorrow.”
“Mrs. Hackenbush. Is she as matronly and library-ish as she sounds?”
“Worse. She wears beige and brown plaid skirts and those gold chains that hang down beside her wrinkled face, so she doesn’t lose her glasses. She sets the tone for our branch dynamics.”
Brendan texts something and then grins, chuckling.
“Do I want to know what you just texted her?”
“Probably not.”
All right. Now I’m afraid. Honestly, I don’t care. Maybe he’ll get me fired and I won’t have to face my father and tell him I quit.
“Anyone else?”
“Nope. That’s my life in a nutshell.”
“Excellent. Now, you’re all mine and we can talk. Do you want anything? Coffee or tea?”
I wriggle myself deeper into the couch. “At this time of night, tea. Do you have any herbal?”
Brendan snorts. “Tag Quinn isn’t really an herbal tea kind of man, but I’ll look.”
Right. I’m in the loft of the Northside mafia boss. How could I forget?
Brendan
I pad into Tag’s kitchen to fill the kettle, my mind spinning with how to convince Nora that my last name doesn’t define me. The water hasn’t even bubbled when I hear her soft snoring.
Peering around the corner of the couch, I find her curled up, fast asleep.
Poor angel. Between the big shock of who I am and the stalker incident, she’s had one hell of a night.
I sit in the wide club chair and watch her sleep until I’m sure she’s out cold. Then I carefully slide my arms under her and lift her to my chest. She mumbles something about the talents of Rodin and nuzzles into my neck. That thing that shifted in my chest the first night I held her warms.
I swear this woman has a direct line to my soul.
Tag’s bed is only steps away, but I take my time, savoring how perfect she feels in my arms. The inviting softness of her curves. The weight of her is enough to feel solid and strong enough to accept my affections without me worrying I might break her like a twig.
A man my size appreciates a woman with curves when getting horizontal.
Or getting her horizontal, anyway.
I flip back the duvet and lay her on the mattress. It takes a bit to gently work the strappy heels off her feet. The buckles are incredibly tiny for my fat fingers. I set them on the floor and pull the covers out from under her feet. Her toenails are painted a sparkly burgundy that makes me smile. I pull the duvet over her and make sure she’s all tucked in.
After flicking on the bathroom light and dimming it, I set a glass of water and a bottle of headache tablets on the bedside table in case she needs them. I don’t know if she took advantage of the open bar at the fundraiser, but if she did, I don’t want her to suffer in the morning.
“Good night, angel.” I kiss her forehead and leave her to rest. Easing the bedroom door closed, I pull out my phone and call Sean.
“Hey, little brother. What can I do for you?”
“What do we know about the guy who was following Nora?”
“You mean in the forty minutes since you called last? While I’m running security for a major family event that you bailed out on?”
“Aye, that’s what I mean.”
He grunts. “Abso-fucking-nothing. Mickey and Snake went to gather him from where you said you left him and found nothing but a blood-smeared sidewalk.”
“What?” My voice booms in the empty loft and I wince and move further from the bedroom door. “He has to be there. I put him down hard.”
“Don’t know what to tell you, B. He wasn’t there.”
Fucking hell. I should’ve stayed and made sure the asshole couldn’t get up and slither away. “Ask Finn to access the CCTV cameras and dig deeper. This guy was bad news and whether he was a mugger or a rapist or a fucking predator who targets blondes, he doesn’t get away with chasing my girl through the street and terrorizing her.”
“I feel you there, brother. Been there, done that, cut off the fucker’s fingers.”
“Aye, you did.”
Someone speaks to Sean in the background of our call and then he excuses himself to check something on the cameras.
“Good. Keep me posted.” I end the call and dial Bryan.
My twin picks up on the first ring. “Where the fuck did you disappear to? I’ve been stuck doing the wrap up photos all by myself.” And by the crowd noise in the background, he’s still there.
“I’ll make it up to you. Right now, I need a favor.”