Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Nora
T he night air whips around me, pulling at my clothes as we tilt and sway, weaving through Dublin’s streets. My arms are wrapped tight around Brendan’s solid waist, his broad frame blocking me from the autumn bite. Every turn on the Harley makes my heart race faster with a mix of fear and exhilaration I’ve never felt before.
The city lights blur past in streaks of neon and gold and—as horrible as it sounds and guilty as I feel—I am more alive and present in this moment than ever before. My cells are practically vibrating and as much as I’d love to blame it on the power of the motorcycle rumbling between my legs, or having my arms wrapped around this mountain of rugged man, I can’t.
I nearly died before I’ve even lived. Tanya is gone and it could’ve been me. If my life ended, what would I have to show for it? What impression have I made upon the world?
I close my eyes and press my cheek to the leather of Brendan’s jacket. Even at the speed we’re going and with the smell of exhaust and night chill filling my senses, his manly scent still lingers in the air.
There’s something about his cologne, leather, and his natural scent blending together that creates a heady, musky, intoxicating mixture that speaks to me.
It’s wild and yet makes me feel safe.
It’s sexy and yet makes me feel calm.
Is that because it’s the smell that surrounded me as he saved my life?
I swallow, the image of his emerald green eyes boring into mine as he shielded me from the violence of the night. “I’ve got you, beautiful. Stay still.”
A pleasant shiver runs the length of my spine.
The guilt that envelops me is crushing, but maybe it’s natural to be hyper-aware of sensations after you survive a near-death experience.
And who am I kidding? Tanya would be fist-pumping the air if she saw the man I have my legs straddled around. I force a breath through the crushing weight squeezing my lungs, the sight of her lying face-first on the ground threatening to pull me under.
“You okay back there?” Brendan’s voice carries over the rumble of the engine.
I squeeze his waist tighter in response. My hands are tucked inside his open leather jacket and brush across abs that feel like forged steel. I hope the rest of him is tough as steel because he’s not wearing a helmet.
When we got to his bike, he sat the half helmet on my head and adjusted the chin straps to fit. When I realized he didn’t have a second one, I panicked, but he insisted he’d be fine. I reminded him that to ride without a helmet was against the law and he chuckled and told me laws were meant to be broken.
The amused look he flashed me then had my heart fluttering.
The man has a wonderful, sexy smirk. I have a feeling that if he ever gives me a full-on smile, I will be ruined for life.
An opening between cars appears in the next lane and Brendan gives the bike more gas. I tighten my hold on his abs as the beast we’re riding grumbles louder and we’re practically launched into the vacant space.
My goodness, how much power does this thing have?
I try not to think about it, comforting myself knowing that Brendan obviously knows how to ride and has already proven he can keep me safe. I’m sure he wouldn’t go to all the trouble of tackling me and saving my life, just to get us killed afterward.
I study the streets as we close the distance to the end of our ride. When we left the crime scene, all I wanted was to get home. Now, I wish I lived somewhere on the south side of the river so we could extend this trip and stay in this moment.
I lean forward, pressing closer to Brendan’s back. At the red light, he slows the bike to a stop and reaches inside his jacket. Despite the bite of the wind as we ride, his massive hand is toasty warm. He covers my hand where it rests on his stomach.
The touch is a sweet reassurance—the gentleness at odds with the rough and dangerous aura he gives off. The skin of his palm is calloused and rough and I wonder what kind of life could give him such a massively muscled frame and strong, calloused hands.
Construction, maybe? He’s very confident on the motorcycle. Could he be part of a bike gang? Dublin has a large MC presence, the Dublin Devils being an arm of the Quinn mafia family. My father doesn’t tell me much about the work his task force is doing, but a lifetime of living with an investigator has conditioned me to be observant.
It’s also hard to miss the Devils when they regularly patrol the streets north of the river. Panic lights off in my chest at the thought…
Could Brendan—the sweet and protective man who sheltered me from a storm of bullets—belong to a criminal organization like the Dublin Devils?
I splay my hands and brush them over the soft cotton of his Henley, and push that thought away. He’s not wearing a biker vest, and he certainly doesn’t act like a drug-running thug. No—that’s just my father’s influence tainting my reality.
Brendan is probably just a hard-working construction guy who likes motorcycles.
At the next light, Brendan chuckles and moves my hand up his ribs. “I’m not complaining, angel, but your wandering hands are making it difficult for me to remember you’ve had a rough night. I’m taking the gentlemanly road here and seeing you safe home, but if you keep it up…”
I suck in a breath and tense to pull my hands away.
As if he expected this, he holds them in place. “Like I said, I’m not complaining. You need to hold on, and I’m loving that. Just keep things above my waist. You’ve already been through one shock tonight. You really don’t need to know what’s going on below my belt.”
Is he saying…?
He chuckles again, and the rise and fall of his chest is mortifying. I close my eyes, my cheeks flaming hot with embarrassment. How do I respond to that? And why am I more intrigued with what’s happening below his belt than I am about the impropriety of giving this manly beast a hard-on?
The light changes, and we’re moving again. He gives the bike an extra burst of power and I tighten my grip and cling to him, my embarrassment forgotten.
Oh, I see what he did there.
Brendan is definitely a bad boy.
I can almost hear Tanya whooping and giving me a ‘you go, chickie’ . That girl wasn’t afraid of anything. Carpe diem was more than her mantra—it was her life aim.
In her honor, I give in to my urge to wrap my arms around him and don’t overthink it.
The contact of my thighs and arms wrapped around him sends electricity zinging through me. Brendan saved me, but we’re almost home. I will exist in this moment a little longer and then I’ll face the truth and let reality crash down around me.
When we get to the corner of my street, I tap Brendan’s chest. “Here’s good.”
He slows our ride, easing to a stop against the curb. When he turns off the engine, the sudden silence rings in my ears. My equilibrium tilts as he sets the bike onto its kickstand and gets off. With an extended hand, he steadies me as I swing my leg over the seat and join him on the sidewalk.
“Thanks for the ride home.” I lift my chin and give him access to unbuckle the strap of his helmet.
He bends to get the buckle open, his hulking frame blocking out the world beyond. “Technically, you’re not home.”
When he removes the helmet, I run my fingers through my hair and tease through the tangles. “It’s close enough. My dad is…strict. He also has very strong opinions about what he calls murder-cycles.”
He arches a brow. “Bikes aren’t dangerous. It’s the ignorant people driving around bikes that are dangerous.”
“Well, you’ll never convince him of that, so it’s easier not to set him off. Honestly, I don’t have it in me tonight to be lectured.”
Brendan dips his chin and brushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “Then, for your sake, I’ll stand down and let the man off easy.”
I roll my eyes. Even the idea of Brendan going toe-to-toe against Jordan the Warden makes my bowels clench. No thanks. This entire walk on the wild side has been an escape from my life. I have no wish for that to collide with reality.
I swallow, realizing his thumb is brushing my cheek and I’m staring up at him, lost in those vibrant emerald eyes. Man, that green can’t be real, can it? Does he wear colored contacts?
The deep rumble of his laughter hits me low in my belly as he leans forward and winks. “No, angel. No contacts. These are the eyes the fates blessed me with.”
Ohmygoodness. Did I say that out loud?
Mortifying.
I close my eyes and hope that he can’t see my cheeks flaming in the darkness. “Okay then. I’m off. Good night, Brendan.”
He chuckles again. “Goodnight, Nora. I’ll stay here and watch until you’re safely inside.”
I step back and miss the warmth of his touch immediately. “Thank you for everything you did for me tonight. You’re a good man.”
Something clouds his expression, and his smirk fades. “No, angel. At least, only a chosen few would think so.”
I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t want him to clarify. You don’t get ‘bad boy’ vibes like he throws off by being an advertising manager. “Well, you were good to me, and I appreciate it. Thank you.”
He dips his chin, and I take that as my cue to leave.
Hugging my arms around my waist, I straighten my spine and leave my mystery biker in the darkness of the shadows. Eyes front, each clack of my boot heel takes me further down the sidewalk and I know exactly what Tanya would say in this moment…
Shake those hips, chickie .
I give my hips a little extra sway and my skin tingles. The heat of Brendan’s gaze caresses me like a tangible touch the entire time I walk down the sidewalk—or maybe I’m in shock, lost in the grief and panic of the night, and have completely lost it.
“Is this your doing, girlfriend?” I whisper into the shadows of the night. “Because there’s no doubt in my mind that you’d reach across the veil and set me up with a hot biker brute if you could.”
I climb the front steps and pull out my keys.
I can almost hear Tanya’s laughter riding on the wind.
Almost.
The impact of the cobblestone knocks the air from my lungs. Brendan’s weight crushes me into the ground, his arms a protective cage. Gunfire pops and echoes off the buildings.
“Stay still. We’re safe. Everything is going to be fine.”
As Brendan speaks the words, his deep voice changes, softens. The weight pressing me down shifts. The scent of gunpowder fades to lavender and vanilla.
Mum?
The cobblestones beneath me transform into plush carpet. I’m thirteen again, crouched beside my bed while Mum grips my shoulders. “Slide under and no matter what happens, don’t come out.”
Her blue eyes are wide with terror, her hands shaking as she urges me to hurry. “Promise me, Nora. Promise you’ll stay under the bed.”
“I promise.”
She kisses my head and then gives me a gentle shove. Footsteps thunder up the stairs. Mom’s feet hurry to the hallway.
There’s the sound of a struggle.
A horrifying crack.
Mum drops to the floor of the hallway, her vacant gaze stares at me beneath the bed.
I scream…
I scream at what I’ve seen.
I scream because I know I’ve given myself away.
I bolt upright in bed, a scream tearing from my throat. I clasp my hands over my mouth as quickly as I shut down the shrill cry. My heart pounds inside my chest like it’s trying to escape the cage of my ribs. Sweat plasters my tank top to my skin.
My bedroom. I’m in my bedroom.
I clutch my chest, willing my racing pulse to slow. The nightmare clings to me, sticky and suffocating. The images blur and merge—Brendan tackling me, Mum falling to the floor, Tanya’s blood on the sidewalk.
It’s the shooting. My mind is processing the loss.
I collapse back onto my pillow, burying my face in the cool cotton. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as quiet sobs wrack my body.
It was just a nightmare.