37. Kieran
Chapter 37
Kieran
Summer: How’s work?
Okay. Readying for a fight tonight.
Summer: You’re fighting?
No. Going to head home and see Aoife soon.
Wish you were here.
Summer: Me too. Luna can’t cook, lol.
I’ll have Allie make sure all your favorites are on the menu for when you get back.
Summer: What about me? Can I be on your menu?
Careful, love. I’ll change the way you walk with that mouth.
Summer: Can’t wait
S ummer left Monday for New York and the house is too quiet. Which is saying something with an almost five-year-old at home. I was worried that with her going to New York she’d pull away, but she’s texting me, and it allows me to hope that she really wants to come back and be with us. It’s taking every ounce of self-control not to go and get her.
This week has been hard. Coming home to an empty bed when all I want to do is wrap my arms around her has made it worse. She’d spent the next two nights in my bed after s’more night, and it will never be enough. I want her in my bed every night. Forever.
Therefore, I instructed Allie to move all her stuff into my room while she’s gone. The guest room can go back to being for guests, and Summer can come back to being mine.
But first I need to finalize work here before I can go home.
Oscar is missing, adding to the ridiculousness this week. He hasn’t checked in and tonight he’s one of the main fighters, but nowhere to be found.
My hand grips the whiskey glass tight enough I can see the white in my scarred knuckles, and I use my other to shove the paperwork off my desk. Where is he?
Two knocks on the door sound before Cormac lets himself in. I glance up at him and do a double take. He’s pale. “What is it?”
“Boss. Riku is here to see ya.”
I stiffen, knocking my fist against the desk. “What’s he want?”
“Wouldn’t say. Wants a private audience with ye before tonight.”
I swallow the growl in my throat at his showing up here, demanding a meeting like I’m beneath him. I cannot let this continue. This isn’t the way I want the Irish legacy to be—subject to another organization. It’s part of the reason I don’t have formal alliances with the Bratva.
My father always taught me that alliances limit your autonomy and can expose you to vulnerabilities if it fails. He was wary of them, and now I am, too.
“Send him in,” I say, pulling my splayed paperwork together and stacking it in the corner of my desk. I eye the photo of Aoife and snatch that as well, opening a drawer and stashing it away.
I pick at my Henley, wishing I dressed in something different. Had I known this meeting was taking place, I’d have worn a suit. From behind my desk, I spy Riku strutting down the hall in his usual all-leather outfit. He smirks when he sees me, and I stand, tucking my hands into the pocket of my jeans.
Cormac stops him at my door to pat him down before gesturing him inside.
“Paranoid much?” Riku says, walking forward and dropping into one of the chairs opposite mine. He rubs his hands down the front of his zipped leather jacket.
I nod to Cormac, letting him know to leave. Then I lean back, studying Riku. Fine lines spread out from his temples as he grins at me. He leans an elbow on the arm of the chair, swiping a thumb across his bottom lip.
“What do ye want?”
“I have another fighter I want in tonight.”
I tsk . “We’re full. Ye’ve got four in already.”
He chuckles, leaning forward on his skinny thighs. “You see, I know that’s not true. You’re missing Oscar.”
I tilt my head, trying not to give off the shock that’s rippling through me. How’d he know that? Only a handful of my guys know he hasn’t checked in.
He continues, “Yes. I know Oscar is missing.”
“How?”
“How else?” Riku holds my stare, and he grins again, sucking his top teeth then running his tongue along them.
“What’d ye do?”
“I made it so there was an opening tonight. Now,” he says, pulling back to lean lazily in the chair. “I want my other fighter put in tonight.”
“Bleeding hell, Riku. Ye think ye can come in here and tell me what to do. It’s me ring and me men. I let ye put in yer three, then it was four. Now ye want more. I’m drawing the line.”
He stands, all expression draining from his face. “I figured you’d say that.” Slowly, he unzips his leather jacket, and my hand drifts to my holster, but it’s not the metal of a gun he produces. It’s a tan envelope, and he haphazardly flicks it onto my desk.
I eye him, and he lifts his chin toward it. “Open it.”
Snatching it, I rip the envelope open, pulling out three glossy photos. What the …
“What is this?” I growl, flipping through stills of Summer in New York. The first is her exiting the backseat of my guard’s car in the city. The second is her in the same green dress, having lunch with Luna at an eclectic café. Finally, the third is her walking down the street, shopping bags in hand.
I clench my fist, watching the photos shake in my hands. I can’t breathe. She’s got to be okay. I’d hear from my guard. Nik would have security for both of them—I trust that. I can’t help the spinning, and when Riku pounds his fist on the desk, I flinch.
“Your little fiancée may be guarded by the Bratva right now, but as you can see, we can get to her. I expect?—”
I toss the photos to the ground, then rush around the desk, plowing into him and shoving him back into the door. I fist his jacket, pulling him forward and slam him back into the wall. “I’ll kill ya.”
He laughs, and my body tremors in response. “Careful. Wouldn’t want to start a war, would you?”
My stomach churns. How do I protect my family while not showing an affinity for intimidation when they’re threatened?
He sighs, visibly relaxing, which makes me shove him farther against the door. “Relax, O’Donnell. She’s safe … for now. All you have to do is put my fighter in.”
I hesitate, then slowly withdraw. I can’t stand to look at him. But worse yet, if there was a mirror here, I wouldn’t be able to look at myself, either.
“Get out of me office.”
“I’ll take this as compliance?”
I hiss. “We’ll see. Get out.”
He opens the door, and Cormac stands with two of Riku’s guards.
“Show Riku and his men to the door,” I say. Then I slam the door, rushing back to my desk. I didn’t let myself consider anything other than getting Summer on the phone. The rings on the other line come too slow, and when Summer’s voicemail picks up, I ball my hair in my fist.
I try again.
Nothing.
“Summer, it’s Kieran. Call me back, please.”
The few seconds it took to leave the voicemail were too long, and I hang up, dialing Todd. It rings twice before Todd’s raspy voice answers.
“Boss.”
“Where is Summer? She’s not answering.” I lean over my phone, now on speakerphone.
“She’s asleep in the back seat, sir. We’re about an hour outside of Boston.”
I freeze, suspended in the moment, and replaying his words in my head. “Ye’re coming home?”
“Yes, sir. She told me she has to be home by Saturday night.” It’s then, in the background, the whirring of car tires on the road settles around me. I swallow down all the words I want to bark out about hurrying up and paying attention to the road. Instead, I get straight to the point.
“There’s been a security breach. Don’t stop. Come straight home to drop her off.”
“Yes, sir.”
Letting out a breath, I scan my office, practically tripping over myself to gather my shite, and leave. The need to get home and check on Aoife hurries me, and I stride out of my office pulling the door shut.
What kind of leader am I becoming? Summer’s words from several weeks ago echoes in the distant chambers of my mind. “Don’t let him, Kieran.”
I can’t let Riku have his way with the Irish. Bend us over and take until we’re humiliated or worse, nonexistent. I fumble with ideas. Ways to keep my family safe while also doing my job.
I didn’t want this life for Aoife, but I’ve come to understand it may be hers by default. If I were to have more kids, she’d still be the oldest, the next in line. Being female doesn’t mean she’s any less entitled to my legacy. If I’m going to leave her one, I’m going to need to fight for it.
* * *
I dial Cormac on my way home, my car screaming down the streets. Mercifully, he answers, and I quickly reprise him of my plans. Ones I need to execute efficiently.
Aoife might not understand. So, I’ll discuss things with Allie first. Calmly, and knuckle white, my hands grip the steering wheel as I park in the driveway.
As if drawn, my gaze finds the patio firepit, and emotion stirs in my chest thinking of Summer atop me. Her whimpers, moans, and desire rivaling mine.
Todd needs to hurry; I need her here. Safe.
Allie is in the kitchen, readying some tea as she must’ve heard me drive in. Cinnamon and citrus waft with the steam rising from the pot on the stove, and I inhale a breath, willing myself to stay calm.
A rhythmic pulsing melody dances from the living room, and I pad the few steps out of the kitchen to peek in on Aoife, playing with her dolls on the coffee table. Tiny clothes, ball gowns, and plastic heels lay strewn across the table as Aoife dresses her dolls up for a special dance. Deuce is curled up on the sofa behind her, tail curled. I smile, rubbing at my chest, at the bruising feeling blooming there.
The pot screams behind me, and I nudge off the doorway. Allie bustles to the stove. Her peppered hair pulled back, and a pale-yellow apron wrapped securely around her waist. Moving back to the island, I lean on the cool marble, icy and sharp beneath my hands.
“Allie.”
There’s a pause, and she lifts her head, but she slowly turns around. Very few times have I taken this tone with her. It’s not rude or commanding, but stern and insistent.
She scans me, no doubt searching for a hint as to what I may be about to say. Lips pressed tight, I drum the pads of my fingers against the countertop.
“What is it?” she asks, letting the apron slip through her fingers after she’s finished wiping her hands.
“I need ye to pack for the cottage. Both for ye and Aoife, and also … for Summer.”
Allie fidgets, fingers twirling with her necklace, the increase in the rise and fall of her chest giving away the fact she’s worried. “Are—are we in trouble?”
“Just do what I say. Ye leave tonight.”
There’s a look of understanding and she jumps into action, pulling the pot off the stove, and cleaning up the tea before she jogs from the room and up the stairs.
Drawn back to the living room, I relax on the couch, watching Aoife dance her dolls round to the music.
Shite. I don’t want to send her away, but I have to take care of this. Of Riku. I need to push back without fear of his retaliation. Everything I hold dear, love, needs to be far away from here.
I scoop the long blonde hair cascading down Aoife’s back to the side and lift her into my lap.
“I need to talk with ye, little love.”
“Do you like her dress?” Aoife holds up a doll with a pink tulle dress.
I smile and nod.
“I wish I could dance like they do at pretty princess balls.”
“Ye can. Here.” I lift her into my arms, moving behind the sofa. Deuce glares at me through slitted pupils, then hops down thoroughly disturbed.
I lower Aoife, her tiny feet balancing on top of mine as we sway together. The song isn’t something I know, but it fills the space between us, and she giggles as I spin her around and around.
Music be damned. Her laughter is the most melodious sound in the world, and before her, I never truly knew joy.
Her little hands grip my fingers, and those intense cobalt blue eyes that remind me of a vivid cloudless sky sparkle with wonderment as the room seems to spin around us.
Such innocence.
Her wilder than sunshine hair bounces as she allows me to spin her.
Such trust.
As the song slows down, so do we. I lift her back into my arms, her fragile arms wrapping around my neck as I hold her close. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I breathe her in.
“Listen, what do ye think about going to the cottage with Allie and Summer for a wee bit?”
She pulls back, taking in my face. “Really? Yes!”
I grin, grateful Aoife’s always loved visiting our lakeside cottage in Maine. It sits by a secluded lake in the northern part of the state, surrounded by woods. I purchased the property shortly after Aoife was born, knowing I wanted a safe house of sorts. A place of respite to give her away from this dank world full of slimy deals, selfish men, and harsh worldly reality.
“I won’t be able to join ye until a bit later, okay? But ye’ll have fun with Allie and Summer.”
She nods. “Daddy?” she whispers.
“Yeah?”
“I love dancing with you.”
My throat constricts as I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I love dancin’ with ye, too,” I whisper back.
For a moment, I hold her. Lost in my thoughts on how it felt to bring home this tiny bundle as a new dad doing it on his own. Utterly shattered by my responsibilities as a leader and drowning in the knowledge I’d eventually fail at this new title I now had.
There’s a timid throat clearing in the doorway that jolts me from where I stand with Aoife.
There.
Summer stands, cardigan wrapped around her chest as she pulls it together, her hands gripping the gray fabric as if to cocoon herself. Her head rests on the threshold frame from the main hallway, hair kissing the tops of her shoulders.
She grins at me, wide. She watches me with Aoife for a heartbeat before Aoife notices her lurking.
“Summer!” Aoife wiggles in my arms until I release her, and she runs for Summer, flinging herself around her legs.
I tuck my hands in my pockets, holding Summer’s gleaming stare. She’s back. Relief pours from me, and the heavy nagging weight I’ve been carrying around the past few days dissolves. There was a hidden panic she might not make the trip back. That perhaps she’d say goodbye to her sister and take off on the run again to avoid her father and this life, maybe me.
But she’s here.
She’s back.
And now I have to ask her to leave again.