Heated Rivals (The O’Malleys #2)

Chapter One

S he wasn’t here.

James Halloran drank his beer and did his damnedest not to look like he was searching the dance floor below for someone specific.

Just like he hadn’t shown up here five nights a week for the last four months, even though he was needed elsewhere.

With his old man in the slammer and his little brother causing more problems than he fixed, all of James’s attention should have been on getting his people back onto stable ground.

Instead, he couldn’t get her out of his head.

Carrigan O’Malley.

He didn’t know what he would say to her if he did see her. Apologize? Considering the last time they’d seen each other, he’d kidnapped her, tied her to his bed, and his father had been a few short hours from killing her… Yeah, there wasn’t a fucking Hallmark card that covered that.

He scanned the club again, this time telling himself he was looking for potential enemies.

The ruling families of the underground might technically be at peace, but that didn’t mean he wanted to come face-to-face with one of the O’Malley men.

He understood why they wouldn’t hesitate to try to take their pound of flesh out of him, but that didn’t mean he was going to play whipping boy.

They all had their roles to play—Sheridan, O’Malley, and Halloran.

He couldn’t have changed things, even if he’d wanted to.

When he let himself think about it, though, he regretted the fuck out of Devlin O’Malley’s death.

He reached for his beer, only to realize it was empty.

“Want another?” The short bartender didn’t look old enough to drink, but she was good enough at her job not to give him shit for showing up, having a single drink, and leaving. Over and over again.

“No, thanks.” She wasn’t coming tonight, just like she hadn’t come any night since the one where she’d blown his fucking mind in a supply closet.

Before he realized exactly whose ear he’d been spilling filthy words into.

Before she said her name and everything changed.

Before he made the decision that labeled him just as cold a bastard as his old man.

Carrigan O’Malley. The daughter of the enemy. The one woman he sure as hell needed to keep his hands off.

Her absence made sense. If he had sisters, he would have gotten them the hell out of Dodge before shit hit the fan, and he would have kept them somewhere safe while things played out.

The power situation wasn’t stable in Boston—not like it had been a year ago—but it was evening out.

It had to. He was all too aware that war among the three families was the least of their concerns if some outside threat decided to take advantage of the power fluctuation.

He knew the Sheridans and O’Malleys—knew how they thought, knew what they wanted, knew how they’d react to a given threat.

Better the devil he knew than the devil he didn’t.

He’d been in talks with Colm Sheridan and his daughter, Callista, about securing peace.

She, at least, wasn’t willing to let the past get in the way of the ultimate good.

The reluctant admiration he’d first felt when she turned herself over to him, admitting that she’d pulled the trigger that ended his older brother’s life, had bloomed into full-fledged respect.

Teague was a lucky son of a bitch—and so was everyone under Sheridan protection.

Callista Sheridan was a force to be reckoned with.

Somehow, James didn’t think Carrigan would be as willing to let the past go. She was prickly and prideful and had a furious temper—and he knew that after having been around her for less than three days.

Enough of this shit .

He pushed to his feet and headed for the spiral staircase leading down to the main floor.

Since it was a Tuesday night, the place was far from packed, but there was still a cluster of dancers sweating and grinding in the middle of the floor, and plenty of people standing around the lower bar, waiting for drinks.

He scanned their faces out of habit, not really expecting anything but disappointment.

His gaze landed on familiar green eyes, and he stopped short.

He had to be seeing things. It had happened before—he’d been sure it was her, only to approach and realize he’d been projecting her image on some other pretty brunette.

But then she shook her head, like she was trying to dispel his image, and he knew .

James took a step toward her, still having no fucking idea what he was going to say.

She turned tail and bolted.

He was giving chase before making a decision to do so.

The voice of reason piped up to point out that running her down wasn’t going to do a damn thing to reassure her that he wasn’t up to no good, but it wasn’t like he had another option at this point.

She wasn’t going to sit there and have a conversation with him.

That didn’t stop him from hauling ass through the doors and out into the street. He looked left and then caught sight of her further down the block, making impressive time considering the six-inch spike heels on her feet.

But he had the advantage on open ground.

James poured on more speed, closing the distance between them.

She cast a panicked look over her shoulder, and it was almost enough to make him stop.

Only the knowledge that he wouldn’t get another chance like this again kept him moving.

That and something inside him that he was reluctant to name.

It felt a whole hell of a lot like the conscience he’d thought was dead and gone.

She was less than six feet in front of him. It was now or never. “For fuck’s sake, stop .”

“Leave me alone.”

He put on a burst of speed and hooked an arm around her waist just as they reached the corner, jerking her to a stop. “Hold on for a second.”

She drove her elbow into his stomach, and then slammed her heel into his toe. Even through his boots, he felt it. “Get off me.” Her struggles increased. “Let go!”

He let go, holding his hands up and gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his foot. “I’m sorry, okay? I just wanted to talk.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” She glanced over her shoulder, checking to see if he had other men with him, or maybe looking for an escape route. “Goddamn it, I knew better than to come back here.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” I never would have let them hurt you .

But the words wouldn’t come. He might have stood back and let her and Callista Sheridan escape that night, but he could have done more.

He’d taken the path that resulted in the least risk to him, and something horrible could have happened to either of them as a result.

She laughed, a low, broken sound. “You know, considering our history, I find that hard to believe.”

What could he say? She was right. In her position, he would have done more violence than an elbow to the stomach.

Hell, he would have drawn a gun and put an end to the threat once and for all.

But things with them were different. She damn well knew that he didn’t want her hurt, abduction or no. “No one laid a hand on you.”

“No, you just threw me in a trunk, and then tied me to a bed and—” She shook her head, drawing his attention to her mass of dark hair. “I don’t know why I’m still standing here. Stay the hell away from me.”

This was it. She would walk away, and it was entirely likely that he’d never see her again.

He’d never see his album again. The last link he had to his mother.

It was a stupid sentiment, but he’d never been able to fully pack away the old photo album.

To know it had been in her possession for the last four months…

It left him feeling edgy and strangely vulnerable.

He couldn’t tell anyone that she’d taken it without admitting what it meant to him, and that was handing a loaded gun to the O’Malleys. No fucking way was he going there.

That’s the reason you’re here, dipshit. You’re not fawning over some woman, no matter how hot she is. She took something from you and you want it back . “Where is it?”

She stopped, but she didn’t turn back. “Where is what?”

“Don’t play dumb, lovely. It doesn’t suit you.” He took a step closer, close enough to see the way her shoulders tightened, as if she could sense his proximity. “That album wasn’t yours to take.”

She gave him an icy look over her shoulder. “Even if I did take something—which I didn’t—I wouldn’t have kept it.”

She was bluffing. She had to be. He made himself hold perfectly still, all too aware that one wrong move would send her fleeing into the night. “Liar.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

It struck him that maybe she had gotten rid of the album. She had no reason to keep it. It was nothing to her—less than nothing. He strove to keep his thoughts off his face, but from the curiosity flaring in her green eyes, he did a piss-poor job of it. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“That’s rich. You have nothing I want.”

Maybe not, but he wasn’t above playing dirty. Not in this. Not in anything anymore. James closed the distance between them in a single step and grasped her chin tightly enough that she couldn’t pull away. “Give back what you stole, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, lovely, then I’m going to have to take that as a sign that you still want me as much as you did four months ago. Which means you want to see me again—and again, and again.”

Her eyes went wide. “Are you seriously offering not to stalk me if I give back this thing I supposedly stole? What kind of deal is that? It’s bullshit.”