Chapter 12
I ’m starting to get sick and tired of being knocked unconscious. It’s beyond humiliating just how easy I am for these fuckers to take down. I wonder if there’s some sort of mafia princess training course Abbie could point me in the direction of.
With a groan, I press a hand to my head and try to sit up, only to feel a hand stop me. I open my eyes to see Abbie leaning over me. “Hey there, sleeping beauty. You scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m so sorry…I know you just wanted a chill day out,” I apologise, frustrated that even something so simple was ruined by this mafia bullshit that I seem to have been dragged into, kicking and screaming. So much for my mundane, lonely life.
“Stop. It’s not your fault. I’m so sick of this shit fucking everything up,” she huffs before continuing, “I should go let the guys know you’re awake.” She pads over to the office, leaving me to gather my thoughts as I process that I’m back at the penthouse with no bodyguards in sight, just Abbie’s Mum who gets up and comes over to me. She’s always been like a second mother to me, so when she wraps me in her embrace, I close my eyes and breathe in her comforting floral scent .
“Oh sweetie, I wish I could just take you home and wrap you in bubble wrap,” she mummers as she presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Jonathan rumbles from above me as he crouches so we’re at eye level before saying, “Unfortunately, it looks like we need to reevaluate our options. I don’t want you to be a prisoner here, but staying in the city isn’t safe for you anymore. Owen will take you to our safehouse until I can get this under control. I would go but…”
“But that would draw too much attention and defeat the purpose,” I fill in for him as he trails off, then glance back and see Owen and his dad, Seamus, who I recognize from our graduation and Owen’s matches.
Seeing Seamus is like looking at Owen twenty years from now: a few inches taller, broader, with his hair shaved on the sides and slicked back, yet the resemblance is uncanny. Both wear matching expressions of concern, though Owen seems more excited as he gives me a subtle nod.
Confused, I turn back to Jonathan. “If you think that’s our best option, then I’ll go, but what about work?”
“Sweetheart, I think it’s best you quit. When things settle down, we can get you back in. After all, you do have an in with the boss,” he teases, trying and succeeding to lighten the mood for a second.
* * *
Calling the next few hours chaotic would be an understatement. After passing me his key with instructions to, “Pack enough shit to last a few months. Anything you think we’ll need. I’ll double check it later,” Owen and Seamus joined Jonathan in his office to hash out the finer details of the plan.
Gifted with the task of rifling through Owen’s belongings, I find myself enveloped by his scent—woody, musky, with hints of cinnamon and leather. Intoxicating as fuck .
Abbie is with the Finlay brothers doing a food supply run, leaving me to pack up Owen’s things by myself. Running my hands over the back of his sofa, I make my way into his bedroom. The room has a huge bed that screams dominance and Owen. From the dark leather along the curved footboard to the padded matching headboard that’s just begging to be gripped in his fist. The black satin sheets and minimal pillows that I absolutely don’t touch as I make my way to his wardrobe.
I did manage to resist picturing Owen in said sheets. Shirtless. With it pooling at his waist. Lies.
Two duffel bags of clothes later, Abbie joins me in his kitchen with her haul. As we’re double checking everything Owen joins us, leaning against the door frame with his arm propped up on it, looking like sin on a stick as he observes us.
“Make sure you’ve got your Kindle or something to keep you entertained. It’s going to be a long drive. I’m going to catch some sleep before we head out. Feel free to hang out here or lock up after yourselves.”