Manacled Hearts: an Age Gap Mafia Romance (The Sanctum Syndicate Book 3)

CHAPTER 8

“Two of the same?” the bartender asks.

“Yes!” I raise my voice over the loud music.

“The fact that you called me was a shock, but this mood you’re in tonight is an even better surprise, baby!” Clara, the blonde I probably made a mistake inviting out again tonight, says in my ear.

The need to wipe her breath off of it gnaws at me, but I refrain, turning to her with a reluctant, cold smile. This might not have been a good idea, and it’s gonna bite me in the ass, because I rarely invite a girl out more than twice. It creates an expectation I’m never going to meet. I refuse to. Relationships are not my thing. Dating is not my thing. Fucking is. And I make it clear to all the women I do it with.

But this is the third time I asked Clara out, and she’s perfectly aware it’s out of character. I know I have a reputation. Even if I’m not the only bachelor in The Sanctum, I’m the only one who sees women on a regular and fairly public basis. I think I inadvertently made it into a challenge for women to try to get me past that second interaction. Many have tried, but I shot them down without remorse.

I’m not a dick, at least I don’t think I come across as that, but I have my boundaries and I make sure whoever I go out with is perfectly aware of them too.

Clara, here, might be getting the wrong impression, and it’s my own fucking fault. However, after the day I had, after that stubborn gir—woman—decided to screw over my plan of getting rid of her, I had to get out, wipe my memory of her, and replace her with someone else. I was livid and impatient. There was no time to find someone else, and I picked the first woman I knew is everything Evelyn Shaw isn’t.

Though, I must admit I felt something strangely close to pride at her attitude toward me. Weeks prior, she could hardly make eye contact with others.

The four vodka sours, six Jager shots, and loud music help ease the worries about Clara.

What they don’t do is drown Evelyn out.

When I look at Clara’s brown eyes, I see bright gray seeping into gold. When I look at her dark brown hair, I see blonde like wheat on a cloudy day. When I look at Clara’s voluptuous body, I see slender. And instead of her porcelain skin, I see soft, olive tones, sun-kissed even if Queenscove’s sun hasn’t touched her.

Another shot, along with a fifth vodka sour is slid in front of me, and Clara’s wide smile fills my vision.

“Here, baby!” she shouts, handing me the drinks.

That pet name rakes through my eardrums.

I take the shot, cheer quickly, and down it in the hopes that the spirit will make it sound better.

It doesn’t.

“Another one!” I holler at the bartender who just turned away from us.

He narrows his eyes on me for a moment, but when I cock my head and give him a look Carter would be proud of, he quickly straightens and jumps into gear without question.

“You’re on a mission tonight. Bad day?”

“I just want to have some fun,” I answer.

“That’s what I like to hear. Let’s dance!”

I glance between her and the dance floor, debating it. I would normally say yes, but tonight I need at least one more drink in me.

“Later.”

“No problem, baby, we could just sit here and…” she trails off and so does her hand, sliding up my thigh as her eyes spell something even more suggestive.

Another shot appears in front of me, and I down it before she can say something else, then step off the bar stool, grabbing her hand. I guide her to the dance floor in the middle of this bar that’s both seedy and kind of nice at the same time and pull her to me once we’re in the middle of all the bodies swaying on a hip-hop song I don’t recognize.

Clara wraps her whole body around mine, clutching my nape and pressing her breasts against my chest, her hips against my own, rubbing against my cock. It responds to the friction, but in this hypnotic flickering low light, her face morphs into the one I’m fighting to fucking forget. The whole reason I’m drinking my weight in alcohol and rubbing against a woman I don’t actually want.

I flip Clara around, her back against my front, shutting down the image of the forbidden woman.

It works.

Gripping her hips as she rolls them against me, we sway to the rhythm of the music, and I fall deeper into the alcohol haze. Christ, I really overdid it. My feet move on their own accord, my body weightless, yet something is off. Closing my eyes, I tighten my grip like it could push Clara deeper into my mind, and I run through the filthy things I’ll do to her once we’re out of here. Only, I’m finding myself forcing my way through those thoughts, because somehow… not sure how… each and every one of them feels wrong.

This whole situation is—the body in my arms, the sensation against me—it’s all wrong. Even her scent.

Until it’s not…

Drawing in a deep, hypnotizing breath, spicy ginger sneaks through my senses. It’s on the verge of faint, catching my attention without overpowering. A moment later the sweet smell of rich brown sugar hits me with mind-bending force and my steps falter.

I’m at a precipice, but I can’t quite make the leap to rationalize, or accept its implication. It’s delicious, decadent, and disturbingly familiar.

My eyes pop open when I pinpoint the familiarity of the combination, and who it belongs to.

Goddamn it! She was finally out of my mind.

Okay, not completely out, but I was so fucking close.

Someone bumps into my back, probably another dancer.

“Sorry, man.” A deep voice follows, teetering on slurring. “How about I get you a drink, baby?” I know that’s not aimed at me.

I lazily turn my head—the man who spoke wasn’t the one who bumped into me, and her fucking scent wasn’t in my head. Our eyes meet, hers as glassy as mine probably are, and the shock at my sight quickly gets replaced by anger.

“A drink sounds great!” she raises her voice over the music and walks away, some random guy on her tail.

What the actual fuck just happened?

Evelyn-motherfucking-Shaw is in this bar right now.

With a random guy hitting on her.

Drunk.

Oh, hell no!

“Come on, baby, come back to me.” Clara’s voice is just another thing about her that’s wrong.

I turn my gaze from the spot where Evelyn stood, back to the dark-haired woman. Two options run in a loop through my dizzy head: put Clara in a taxi and send her away… or do that to Evelyn and go home with Clara.

Fuck!

“What is it, baby?” she asks.

Did I say that out loud?

She wraps her arms around my neck, running her fingers through my hair, and I have an urge to shove her as far away as possible. What is happening with me?

“Let’s get another drink,” I tell her, prying her hands off my neck.

“Um, yeah, sure… okay.” She doesn’t sound all that sure.

I force my gaze on our seats, refusing to stray and search for Evelyn. I don’t understand what she’s doing here. She’s not even old enough to be in this bar, goddamn it!

On clenched teeth I take a deep inhale, trying to rationalize it. Nah, I must be overthinking. She must be with Morrigan, Lulu, or Katya.

She’s fine.

I reach the bar, my untouched vodka sour waiting patiently. I throw back half of it, then sit.

She’s fine.

But I’m not. My only choice is to use Clara as goddamn bleach and drown myself in her to forget about the woman who threatens the wall I built in the last eight years. All the work I’ve done to be able to survive as I have, is now at risk. My goddamn integrity too since she’s… fuck! Way too young!

I turn to the right, and just on cue, Clare steps between my legs, wrapping an arm around my back, the other palm laid over my chest. She leans in, her hot breath on my ear, before she wraps her lips around my lobe.

“Maybe we should head to my place before the alcohol does more damage. It would be such a shame not to… consummate this night,” she whispers sensually in my ear.

I’m just about to open my mouth to answer when I catch sight of something that boils the blood from my veins in one second flat—Evelyn dancing far too close for comfort with that same douche. He’s behind her, his hands on her hips, and looking down at her like he wants way more than a dance.

Then I notice she’s dressed differently. All black. Tight high-waisted jeans, intentionally ripped in too many places showing far too much skin, combat boots, a loose leather crop top that doesn’t touch her waist, and a thin, oversized cardigan that’s fallen off one shoulder, exposing her soft skin and thin straps of her top. She looks… at home.

She looks goddamn perfect.

I’m fucked.

But so is the guy currently lowering his hands dangerously.

“Excuse me.”

I calmly push Clara back before I get off the stool, and head straight to the wretched woman and the asshole who plans to fuck her.

“You!” I point at him as I near. “Leave,” I order him.

“Get your own, man. This one’s mine,” he says with amusement in his tone, not sparing me a glance.

“This?” I sneer. She’s not a fucking object. And she’s definitely not his.

He also doesn’t sound like he’s drunk, which pisses me off further because now I know he plans on taking advantage of Evelyn. I step as close as I can get, caging her between us, and I wrap my hand around the guy’s throat without hesitation. Evelyn gasps but doesn’t move. He lets go of her and goes to grab onto my arm, but his eyes land on mine before his touch does, and I don’t miss the moment recognition hits through the haze of the dim lights.

“My bad. She’s all yours.” He quickly throws his hands up in surrender, but with his throat in my hand, he can’t move.

I give it one last squeeze before I let go, but don’t step away from her.

She turns toward the asshole. “Hey, no. You don’t have to go. I am not his!” Evelyn argues, but her words come together a little slow.

“Um, yes, I really do. So… yeah, thanks for a good night. Bye.” And with that, he disappears into the crowd.

I sense eyes on us from the other patrons, but I couldn’t give a shit about the attention we’re attracting.

“You need to go home,” I say to her, but it comes out like an order.

She narrows her eyes, slowly cocking her head, and uneasiness scrapes its way up my spine. It leaves goosebumps in its wake. I feel horribly seen. Logic whispers to me that I’m imagining it, but the way her gaze seeps into my veins makes me wonder if she’s discovering all my secrets right about now.

My fear eases when her gaze softens, but dread replaces it when she slowly, so fucking slowly, bites one side of her luscious bottom lip. I’m transfixed. It’s impossible to rip my gaze away.

Then the woman does the unthinkable—she laughs.

She motherfucking laughs!

And it sounds ridiculously good. Dangerously so.

Brown sugar and ginger intensifies through my senses, contributing to the haze that already took over my brain. Only, now I’m drunk on her.

I’m sick… so goddamn sick.

“I was dancing. You interrupted me,” she complains, yet her eyes spell mischief in multiple languages.

I was expecting more protest, fighting back, but it’s clear as day—she really is drunk. How did they serve her here? The legal age is eighteen.

“Who are you here with? Katya? Morrigan?” I ask.

She shakes her head slowly and smiles. “I am all on my own. Can you believe it? On my own.” She’s giddy as she says those words, oddly proud too.

There aren’t enough curses and swear words in the English language for me to express how I feel about this piece of information.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I swipe a hand over my face at the stupidity of what she’s done. After all that happened to her, being alone is the last thing she should do.

She shrugs and starts looking around, seemingly uninterested in the direction of this conversation.

“I was thinking that I deserve this… especially today.”

“You need to go home, where you are safe, and sleep it off,” I tell her, my tone grave.

She laughs again and moves along to the music. To my dismay, a slow, RB tune fills the barroom, and her hips sway torturously from side to side. We’re lost in the crowd as more people join on the dance floor, and in a strange paradox, it’s turning more intimate. Like we’re alone.

“You, mister, need to go back to your girlfriend,” she says.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

She purses her lips, but then shrugs and straightens.

“Home. Now!” I insist.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Finnigan Hennessey. Remember?” She pokes me in the middle of the chest as her steps falter, and I quickly grab her bicep to steady her.

She takes it as a cue and wraps her hand around my nape, gripping my side with the other, so warm on my ribs. She starts moving against me without warning, swaying her whole body as she pulls me to follow her rhythm.

All night I felt wrong with Clara around me. But now, with Evelyn’s body lined against mine, her scent wrapped around every inch of me, her incredible eyes holding mine in their invisible tether, it feels disturbingly right.

I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol guiding my feet or my will, but they move with her. As if hypnotized, they follow her flow, our eyes locked onto each other as we lose ourselves in a world that’s only ours. It feels both right and wrong. It’s perfect and forbidden. It’s meant to be and doomed to fail.

This makes no sense.

She makes no sense.

But us… we make all the sense in the world.

It’s been too many years, and not one woman has managed to stick to me. But Evelyn has crawled right under my skin, and she’s slowly bleeding her soul into my veins. My muscles tense when her warm touch leaves slithering electric current in its wake as she draws down to my clenched fist. I didn’t register the ache from the strain until she guided me to relax my hand, then pulled it to her waist.

My touch meets bare skin, the softness so electrifying that it seems as if she’s the one caressing me. I can’t help but squeeze her delicate flesh. Just once. That’s all I allow myself.

But the minx pulls herself closer, pressing against me and making me far too aware of the hard on that I’m failing to control. She’s not acknowledging it, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or slightly disappointed. Before I can think better of it, I reach up and brush the back of my fingers against her cheek, down the soft line of her jaw, and under her delicate chin, guiding it up. Liquid gold sparkles where it meets the gray in her mesmerizing irises, and I don’t know if it’s her gaze or the touch, but whatever it is ignites a heat that floods my chest like it’s seeping out of my very soul. And there’s nothing foreign about it. It’s a slotted piece of a puzzle I decided long ago I will not try to solve. It’s been begging to be let out, to slot into place in the fabric of my being and wrap around the one thing inside my chest I have to protect.

Keeping it at bay has been easy. Until now. After all these years, all it took was one look at her.

My fingers trace her bare flesh mindlessly and my feet are still guided by her. I should stop this. It’s not right, none of this is right. This must be a sickness.

She’s too young, she’s not for me. I’ve never done anything this stupid in my entire life. I’m better than this, and she deserves to find someone better than me.

A man she can trust. A man who can take care of her. Who can protect her. Who deserves her.

I am not that man now, nor will I ever be.

Before I can change my mind, I grab her hand, spin on my heels and move away from the dance floor, pulling her with me. She follows willingly as we head toward the exit.

“Wait!” She tugs at my hand. “My bag.”

“Where is it?” I stop and turn to her.

She points toward the bar, and I gesture to her to take the lead. There’s a joyful sprint in her step. It’s new, and it looks peculiar. Not wrong. Not right either. Just… out of character.

You don’t know her character, asshole.

When we reach the bar, she gets the attention of the bartender who nods before turning and heading out of sight.

“Oh, my drink!” she exclaims and reaches over to a glass of some pink liquid.

She grabs it quickly, and in a split second, I smack my hand over it, pushing it back on the bar top.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” I raise my tone, unapologetically.

“It’s—um… my drink.”

“That you left unattended for God knows for how fucking long. Literally anyone could have spiked it. Do you understand how much danger you could be in? Jesus Christ, Evelyn! Anyone could take advantage of you!”

She opens her mouth probably to protest, but I can see the exact moment she acknowledges my words, and as her gaze softens, I feel a tinge of guilt at my outburst.

“I didn’t think. I’ve never… this is my first time.” Her brows draw together as her eyes lower.

“No, you didn’t think. Wait. First time out?”

She nods.

“Well, you shouldn’t have been. I should kick the bartender’s teeth in for even serving you.”

She frowns for a few moments, and then her expression shifts to a realization she doesn’t share with me. Just on cue the bartender shows up, sliding a small bag toward her. Before I can grab the guy by the collar, she swipes the bag from him and pushes me away from the bar until we’re too far away for me to do anything.

“Where are you going to take me?” she asks, an expectant expression on her face, but her hand doesn’t leave my chest.

“I’m putting you in a car and sending you home.”

“What? You’re joking, right? After all of… that?!” She gestures wildly to the dance floor.

The glassiness over her eyes seems to dissipate, replaced by pure annoyance.

“Goddamn it, you’re doing it again. There’s nothing here, there can’t be anything between us. Do you understand? You’re fucking jail-bait, Evelyn!”

She throws her head back, laughing hard enough that she attracts attention.

“That’s what bothers you? My age? You can stop feeling so guilty because I’m officially eighteen today. Well, according to that clock on the wall it’s past midnight, so technically it happened yesterday.”

Oh, fuck…

My mind is spinning with the flurry of thoughts assaulting me. Too many voices argue inside my head, throwing arguments that shouldn’t matter right now. I strain to focus and the first emotion I grasp is sadness. This creature has had so much taken away from her, and now this pivotal moment in her life might have passed without proper celebration. We should have known. We should have tried to make her feel special.

Am I overthinking it? She was out with Morri and Lulu today, after all. She probably celebrated.

Then why didn’t Katya mention anything?I shake the subject away and grasp one other voice screaming inside my mind. It’s the loudest one and the one I want to squash the most—she’s legal now. I would punch myself in the face if there weren’t so many people around me, because that thought eases the sickening guilt. It shouldn’t. It will not, because her age makes no difference at all. One year added onto it is still too many away from mine. This is still wrong.

But it could feel so fucking right.

Goddamn it, no!

“It’s your birthday? Did anyone know?” I strain to pull myself out of the cesspit of dangerous thoughts.

“Nope. But don’t change the subject. There’s nothing stopping you now,” she says, a smug expression on her pretty face.

I shake my head and snort. “It doesn’t change anything.”

Before she can further protest, and before I can convince myself that it does, indeed, change something, I grab her hand and pull her toward the exit. This time she does fight me, but I don’t give her any leeway as we pass through the door and into the crisp night air.

“Are you serious right now?” Even now, in her drunken state, she still doesn’t yell.

Her tone is filled with annoyance and a hint of embarrassment, but no raised voice. I ignore her as I catch sight of one of my guys who’s my designated driver tonight and gesture him over.

“Are you even listening to me?” She pulls on me to grab my attention.

The hurt in her eyes takes me aback, but I can’t fucking falter.

“Listen to me, Evelyn. You and I are never going to happen. I don’t do relationships, and I certainly don’t do quick fucks with girls like you.”

Her nostrils flare at my choice of words and tears pool in her eyes, but there’s much more fury than upset shining in her gaze. She’s livid. The rejection seeps through her just as fast as the regret does through me. But it had to be done.

My driver pulls the car next to us, and I yank the back door open. When my eyes drift back to her, the drunk Evelyn is gone. The one I see now could cut me into a million pieces and not even bother burying me. Her back is straight, her gaze stern, and I almost… almost cave and go back on my words. Even if they are for her own protection.

I can’t stand the way she looks at me. Fear seeps down to my bones, the kind I never wanted to suffer. Because now, I’m scared she’ll never again look at me like she did mere moments ago.

What have I done?