EIGHTEEN
HER TEMPLES ACHED. The mood in the rec room was somehow both amped and subdued at the same time. Fewer men hung out than before though more eyes tracked her, if that was possible. Were the ranks blaming her for this or worried she’d pitch a fit?
“I’m going to take a minute,” she said and stood.
Daly tossed the controller aside and rose to his feet. Hock, Snuff, even Biggs were right there with him.
“We’re in McDade territory. There isn’t anywhere safer for—you know what? It’s fine.” She raised the phone glued to her hand since the troops left. “Can I go stand over there and make a call?”
They all looked at each other before settling into their seats again.
She wanted to call Strat. To call her guy. To find out what was happening and whether or not they were safe. Except that was probably the worst thing she could do. They needed to be focused, to have their wits, and didn’t need her interrupting.
She called Lach first, no answer. Of course there was no answer. Her brother loved putting her on edge. That was sarcastic because the opposite was truer; he’d chased her down in the face of crazy drama. She was the trouble magnet. Her imagination might work overtime fearing her brother was dying, or stolen, or dead, but he could just as easily be asleep, at work, or out having some fun. Wouldn’t that be overdue?
Steeple was next.
“Sersh?”
She smiled. That thread of wariness, the acute knowing, the intrigue, the concern, her boss, Steeple, could convey so much in just the way he said her name.
“I disappeared. I’m sorry.”
“That guy came over, your bodyguard, said you were taking a few days. How are you doing?”
So her guy covered her ass by sending Daly to her boss? Though she’d have to ask Daly if that was a calm conversation or if he’d pulled out his toothpick.
“I’m okay. Getting by.”
“Figured you’d call tonight.”
Uh… “Why tonight?”
“You always know about this shit before the cops do. You want to write it?”
Confusion edged into dread. “Write what?”
“Shooting at that not-so-secret Manzani place, cops, paramedics—the fire department sure did their job, but it’s all a shitshow. Can you ID the bodies that were pulled out?”
Hanging up, she hurried across the room. “We’re leaving, job time,” she barked at her boys while making a beeline for the foyer.
“What’s going on?” Daly asked.
She’d guess the others were there, there wasn’t time to check. “Is my car here? We have to—”
Only five feet from the front door, it opened, and there was her guy. She didn’t stop and kept on going until she was right up against him.
“Oh my God, baby, what happened?”
Others came in, Stranger, Familiar, some she recognized, others she couldn’t label McDade.
With a glance at her and one to those behind her, Conn’s brow lowered. “Going somewhere?”
“Baby—”
“Upstairs,” he said, then addressed the guys at her back. “Stow the weapons.”
She swallowed. Though he gave her a kind of push, she clung to his arm. “Did Strat—”
“Miss me?”
Just at that, her friend rounded the door, held up by Niall and another guy.
“Strat!” Rushing around Conn, an emotional welcome wouldn’t be appreciated by anyone, even if she felt it on the inside. The intention was to hug him, with the bruises, the blood, she didn’t want to cause more harm. “Oh, God.”
“It’s okay, I’ve been in bigger messes than this.”
Oh, screw it. With gusto, and little grace, she embraced his torso while the supporting guys were relieved by others.
“Get him upstairs,” Conn said.
Strat winked and stuck with the men helping him to the next floor.
“Should we take him to the hospital?” she asked, wincing at each of her friend’s limped steps.
“Hospitals have their own problems right now,” Niall said. “And they ask questions.”
Strat was alive. Conn was there. Lach was the only loose end, was he caught up in it too?
“Evander said he was shot, where did—”
“Close it up.” Conn’s order was accepted. Everyone else got it and scurried off to do their work, her guy, on the other hand, strode across the foyer with his own purpose. “Front and center.”
Okay, that command was for her. Moving fast, she stayed at his flank as he went upstairs into the office.
“This is the McDade Mansion,” she said. “I had no idea you still—” His jacket was dumped on the desk, and his cuffs were loosened next. “What happened tonight? I called Steeple and he—did we lose anyone?”
“No one important.” Was that supposed to be encouraging? “You’re going to write a piece.”
Ah, hadn’t she been trying to do that all week? Writing for Conn would be easier than writing for her father.
“Okay, what kind of piece?”
Didn’t she need to know the facts of what went down? Maybe not the private stuff, that wouldn’t be printed. Steeple mentioned cops and paramedics, this wasn’t a quiet in and out for the McDades, there had been drama. Those were the facts the public would want to know, and they’d give some cover for anyone questioning why McDades had been around Evander’s club.
In the closet, he tossed the cufflinks aside. “An obit.”
Unexpected. “For…?”
“Vex.”
She stalled. He unbuttoned his shirt while she absorbed the ramifications of that.
“He’s dead?”
“No.” That actually provoked zero emotion. Dead or alive, she really didn’t care. “Wishes he was.”
Which suggested he was living only at McDade pleasure. As in, Conn had him fully in control. Was he injured? Tied up? Abandoned somewhere? Did that mean their plan went off without a hitch? What did “no one important” mean when it came to murder?
“If he’s not dead, why do you want me—”
“It’ll have your name on it.” That’ll send a helluva message from one faction to the other. “We’ll make sure he sees it, Silvio too.”
“Won’t that cause a problem? If I write it, and Steeple prints it on my word, people will see Evander in the street and…”
The sly slant to those delicious lips said so much, not as much as the darkness around him.
“No one will see Vex in the light of day again. Not without my permission.”
“You got him.” Unbelievable. “You actually—oh my God, baby.”
The weird elation that could only be identified as joy at reprisal dwindled to nothing when he took off his shirt. And there it was, the fresh scar on his torso. A stark blemish on his enticing flesh.
“You write it, we’ll handle the printing.”
She didn’t care about that, about Evander, anymore, not in light of the memories. Was that why her love pulled her hand away before? So she wouldn’t feel it? Did it still hurt? She’d sent him out there to Evander while…
“Conn…” Going to him, her fingertips met the edge of the wound. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” he said in time with opening a drawer to pop a couple of pills from a bottle. “Do you need your computer? Everything you need will be brought to you.”
What she needed was a conversation with him.
“I need us to talk about this. It’s like it never happened. We’re out here, we haven’t talked about it, now there’s Evander mess. Baby, I want to know what happened the night my father took me from you.”
“You were there, you know what happened.”
Probably better than anyone else. She couldn’t see him calling his guys in for a rundown of the evening’s events. They’d have even more questions than her. If he didn’t want to talk about it, that was one thing. If he was keeping specific details from the others, she needed to know, or else she could reveal something he wanted under wraps.
Okay, that sounded like a reason, it was a reason. In truth though, his wellbeing was her main concern.
“After my attack, you said I had to talk about, that if I couldn’t, I wasn’t dealing with it.”
He caught her fingers in a fist. “Wasn’t my first time, I’ve been shot before.”
“That doesn’t make it okay. The trauma of being hurt—”
“The trauma was losing you, watching him take you out of there, away from me…” He gritted his teeth, clearly still riled by the memory. “No one takes you from me.”
“No one did,” she said, adamant in getting closer. “Physically, he might have led me away, but I am always yours, Connel McDade. Always.”
“I vowed to keep you safe.”
“You did keep me safe. If you hadn’t come with me, I’d be dead by now. That doesn’t make it okay though. Don’t you think I dealt with my own guilt? I put you in that room. You gave me the choice and I asked you to come. If I’d told you to stay in bed—”
“I wouldn’t have.”
Confused, she frowned. “You wouldn’t?”
“Your answer to the question didn’t matter.”
“So why did you…? It was a test? To see if I would do the right thing, do the McDade thing?”
“The issue was allowing you to go. I should never have permitted that. It’s a mistake I won’t make again.”
As that night had proven.
“We still have to deal with my father. To make a decision on—Lach and I thought he should resign, go into exile, I guess. We can’t ask him to answer for his crimes legally without pulling everyone into the spotlight.” He said nothing though his focus stayed fixed. “Is this another test? I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Vote whichever way you want me to vote.”
“There’s no vote. I command.”
And he had a knack of knowing what was best for her, even when she didn’t.
“We should have dinner with Lach or something, get his view—”
“We’ve discussed it.”
What the hell? “You’ve… you and Lach?”
“Aye.”
That truth knocked around in her skull as he stripped her down. Only when he walked her backwards up against the wall did she focus.
“What did you discuss?”
“Your grandfather’s house will be sold. All proceeds and assets will be evenly split between you and Lachlan.”
“How did you get my father to agree with that? I thought everything would go to him.”
“What the will says is irrelevant. This is how it’s going to be.”
No votes, only commands. Shit, her man turned her on without even trying.
The estate. Concentrate. There would be money. Which reminded her of earlier.
“Why would you put the loft in my name? We’re not married, we don’t have kids together.”
“Are we going to get married?”
“Yes.”
“Have kids?”
“Sure.”
“Then what difference does it make whether it’s now or then?”
Interesting angle.
“It’s your home,” she said. “This is your home too. Why have we never stayed here?”
“I try not to set foot in this house unless it’s necessary. It’s kept in order, maintained, always ready and available to any McDade, but I have no desire to live here.”
“Bad memories?”
“This is the McDade past. It’s a family home. The name is important, but it echoes when there’s no life in it.”
“Whisper and Razer could stay here too. Are Score and his wife safe?”
“For now.”
She narrowed an eye. “Because you want them hurt, or you believe they will be?”
“That depends on Score’s actions. He’s not an easy man to appease, though his wife has the knack of it, I’m told.”
“You think he’ll want payback?”
“Clue’s in the name.”
The harsh edge of her guy never went far. Unless he was with her. The way his fingertips moved across her face and down her neck, his possession bled into her pores.
“You’re angry,” she murmured. “About what happened tonight.”
“The fuck came for my family—”
“Not at Evander. At us.”
“I want to lock you up and never let you out.”
“Here?” she asked. “If you lock me up here, you’ll have to move in.”
Her attempt to boost away from the wall failed. The touch of those sure fingers bit tight around her jaw.
“Make a decision.”
“Ask me a question.”
“Your stake in the McLeods—”
“Is yours,” she said.
In control, Connel McDade steered with confidence.
“This is not about money.”
“I know what it’s about,” she said. “Lachlan is my brother, I love him, and I want him to be treated with respect. But for me, on my matters, and family matters, your voice is mine.”
Loyalty was one thing. Having a certainty so strong, she didn’t consider resisting. This was less about dominance and more about confidence. Losing him, even for a short time, was warning enough. He’d feel it even more because he was used to calling the plays.
“Do what you have to do,” she said, laying her hands on him. “I’ll always support you… My McDade.”
“What do you do if you have a problem?”
“Bring it to you.” Just as she’d done after talking to Evander. “I should go see my friend.”
“The doc’s got him.”
His grip switched to a pinch that brought her chin upward. The press of his mouth lingered, expecting, appreciating, loving.
As she lazed in the connection, loosening, needing, surrendering, existence dwindled to—he grabbed her ass, boosting her up to take her through to the shower. He was injured, the scar was still new, probably sensitive, but she wouldn’t resist. Looping her arms around his neck, she begged for more as ice-cold water hit her spine.
The water would heat in time with their passion.
“Conn,” she whispered, gripping his hair.
Arching her shoulders in response to his kiss trailing lower, she lost herself in them. They’d been apart and come back together, nothing could keep them apart. Conn may be tightening his hold, forcing her close, as a response to them potentially losing each other. She couldn’t argue, not when they bathed in the necessity of his possession.
The force of him propelling himself into her tightened her hold and welcomed her voice. Harder, faster, nothing slowed his hammering down. Consumed by him as her body devoured his, they were them, one unit, completion in symbiosis.
Independent woman? Yes, she’d never alter that state of mind. What Conn offered was vital, as fundamental as the air in her lungs. He didn’t take her independence, he enhanced it. The McDade shield was strong, and she’d never stray from behind it again.