Chapter 26 #2
The wind is bracing, but I don’t have time to go back to my room and fetch a coat. I’m shivering as I punch the destination into my car’s GPS and take off at speed, barely stopping at the gates to give a brief nod to the security guards who recognize me and wave me through.
The unit is less than a fifteen-minute drive away, but I’m not going to relax until I’m back at the house. It’s a minor deviation, I tell myself. I’m worrying for nothing.
I repeat that mantra over and over in my head until I pull up outside a brick building in a row of similar units along a darkened street.
There are no windows and the entrance is shuttered.
The only welcoming light comes from the motion-activated security light that comes on as I pull into a parking space.
There’s a blond-haired man leaning against the wall wearing a dark, possibly black tuxedo. He waves, like he’s been waiting for me.
“Oh, fuck.”
Sensing a trap, I struggle to put the Mini Cooper in reverse, but I’m too late.
The man in the tuxedo opens the passenger door and drops into the seat next to me.
He’s at least six foot and his large frame fills my little car in much the same way he’d filled the restroom stall the other week in the restaurant.
“Don’t rush on my account,” he says in a playful tone. “Do you not want the cake, Gracie?”
He places a cake box on his lap and rests a smaller gift bag on top before slamming the passenger door shut, sealing us in.
“It’s you again. Katarina’s hairdresser.”
“To be honest with you, I tend to mess up her hair more than I do style it, but yeah, that’d be me.”
“Why are you…?” My words stick in my throat.
His accent is more pronounced than it had been in the restaurant.
Less American. More Irish. Dread steals my breath as I make more connections from that night in the restaurant.
Shit. Had Katarina’s bodyguards been right about the Irish mafia being there?
Had I spoken to one of them? “What do you want?”
“A ride to the party would be grand,” he says, beaming a smile at me.
My heart thumps painfully in my chest. Surely I’ve jumped to one too many conclusions. A Bratva princess wouldn’t be hooking up with a member of the Irish mafia. They’re enemies. It wouldn’t be allowed. Then I remember how much Katarina hates her uncle. Despite the cold, sweat beads my brow.
My unwelcome passenger tips his head in the direction of the road. “We need to get going. We don’t want to miss the celebrations.”
I put my car into park. “No,” I say, my refusal shocking me more than him. It doesn’t matter who this man is, I just know he’s trouble. “You’re not on the guest list and you won’t be allowed in. Please, get out.”
He rubs at the dark stubble on his chin, his features turning grave. “Please don’t make me do this.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “Do what?” I croak.
I suck in a breath, preparing to scream as he slips his hand into his inside jacket pocket. He’s smiling at my reaction when he shows me his cell phone. “Let’s talk to Kitty.”
When the call connects, Katarina’s tone is a soft purr. “Hey, Shorty. Did you see Grace?”
“I’m looking at her right now,” he says, winking at me. “We’re on speakerphone, so no dirty talk.”
“You should be so lucky,” she huffs. “Hi, Grace. Sorry for the surprise. Shorty’s insisting on giving me a birthday gift and you’re the only one I’d trust to pick it up. We won’t get another chance.”
I cock my head at the Irishman. Katarina isn’t expecting him to come back with me. “Shorty here wants me to–”
Shorty clears his throat loudly. “Two things, Gracie. Firstly, only Katarina gets to call me Shorty. You can call me Kill, Killi or Killian.”
As in Killian McConkey. The man who assured the Griffins the Irish mafia hadn’t been at the restaurant the other week. Shit.
“And your second thing?” asks Katarina with an edge to her voice. “What the hell are you up to, Killian?”
“Since I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go, Gracie’s kindly offered to give me a ride. I thought I’d give you your gift in person.”
“I didn’t offer,” I say for no one’s benefit but my own. Katarina will know Killian’s talking shit.
“Listen to me, Kitty,” Killian says when Katarina remains icily silent.
“I’ve got my wig and a pair of sunglasses.
” He tugs at the blond mullet for effect.
“And with Gracie vouching for me, security won’t look at me twice.
I promise I won’t speak to anyone else. I just want to see you.
” His voice lowers to a promise when he adds, “And I intend to see all of you. Tonight.”
“It’s too risky. You can’t…”
Her voice trails off and Killian smooths over her doubts. “I can. And I will.”
My pulse races. “You can’t and you won’t,” I tell him. “Not if I don’t agree. I’d rather stay out here all night than smuggle you into the party so you can sabotage all our plans. Duke needs to get his brother home.”
“I won’t be doing anything to jeopardize your plans,” Killian says earnestly. “You have my word.”
“Please. Don’t do this, Killian,” Katarina says. I can only hope she hasn’t wasted time fixing her makeup because her voice is wet with tears. “We’ve said our goodbyes. Let me go. Maybe one day, when it’s safe and your family doesn’t hate my family so much, we can pick up where we left off.”
“I won’t let you leave on a maybe,” he insists, his voice gravelly. There’s no sign of that roguish smile on his face.
Katarina clears her throat. “You have to. It’s all I can offer,” she says. “Goodbye, Shorty.”
“Kitty!” Killian growls, but Katarina cuts the call.
The band of tension around my chest relaxes a little, but I’m still sitting next to a member of the Irish mafia, waiting for him to hand over the boxes so he can get the fuck out of my car. Instead, he puts his cell phone back in his pocket, and when he withdraws his hand…
Oh fuck. I’m staring down the wrong end of a lethal looking handgun. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Sorry, Gracie. I am going to the party and you’re going to get me in there. And the quieter and calmer you are, the less chance there is of things kicking off before your boyfriend’s brother can be returned.”
I peel my tongue from the roof of my suddenly dry mouth. “You’re not going to shoot me,” I say, if only to reassure myself because there’s no way I can agree to this. “You’re friends with the Griffins. And the Moncriefs. They wouldn’t want you to hurt me.”
“There are lots of things people don’t want me to do, but I do them anyway. Just ask Rory.”
Terror should be scrambling my brain, but I see things all too clear. “You caused his crash?”
“It was a necessary correction to keep Duke on the straight and narrow. Or so I thought,” he says. “You have no idea how much earache Katarina gave me for it.”
“She didn’t know what you were going to do?”
“Of course not.”
“But she took the blame.”
Killian’s eyes twinkle in the dim light. “I didn’t know that. Fuck me. I do love that woman.”
I can’t hide the shock. I guessed Katarina had feelings for her hairdresser, but a Bratva princess and the son of an Irish mafia boss? Love doesn’t seem plausible.
“Let me see her one last time, Gracie,” he rasps out. “Let me tell her how I feel.” When I still hesitate, he adds, “My soul is black enough. I really don’t want to kill you.”
The man next to me might be crazy in love, but he’s no less of a psychopath and I’d be a fool to think his threat wasn’t genuine.