Chapter 36 #2
It’s like it happens in slow motion. A man with shoulder-length hair wearing a long dark coat comes around the corner, dragging the dealer’s limp body by one foot.
“Rhys,” I say, my breath escaping me, recognizing Trace’s brother. The assassin.
“Someone running and screaming with a face full of blood captures our attention around here,” Trace says.
Another car pulls up behind his Benz before I can argue and fucking fuck.
I recognize that Wagoneer. The passenger door opens up, and one black beat-up shitkicker hits the damp pavement. Dark hair, sharp jaw, scarred cheek, and sunglasses at night, my brother Lachlan rises to his full terrifying 6-6 height.
His gaze locks on me. While this is a serious fucking situation, Lachlan doesn’t take himself too seriously. That signature grin of his builds on his mouth.
I quickly remind myself that he lobbied to get me out of Dunbar early. Plus, he’s my brother, my blood. He’s not afraid of any man on this planet. But he is afraid of two women.
His wife and our mother.
Lachlan looks me over. He takes in the blood on my face and my scraped knuckles. With a slow head shake, he growls, “Who did this to you, Cormac?”
“I’m thinking it’s this guy,” Rhys says, still holding the limp body’s foot while he lies splayed out on the sidewalk.
Like an idiot, I say, “Shouldn’t you be in Astoria, Lachlan?”
He cocks his head to me. “I called Griffin myself. I’m on his turf with permission.”
I exhale. Griffin Quinlan used to be Lachlan’s second. Even if he wasn’t, the damn Volkov Bratva in Chicago wouldn’t deny Lachlan O’Rourke access.
I can’t blow this off.
“Why are you here?” I ask Lachlan and then turn to Trace. “Are you following me on purpose?”
“Yes,” Trace answers. “So I can look your sister in the eye because I know you’re not dead.”
“And Ma,” Lachlan adds.
“I never worried about either you,” I stupidly argue.
Lachlan and Trace trade looks and then burst out laughing. My brother takes out his phone and shows me a collage of photos of me getting my ass kicked.
Fucking drones.
Lach glances at the man Rhys dragged over. “Is that the man who did this to you?”
I’m shocked this is all happening on a city street. But Trace is unfazed. He has this place locked down under Quinlan Empire control.
“I tracked him to a park across the street.” I raise my aching hands and wiggle my stiff fingers. “He’s a dealer.”
Lachlan stands over me, and one hand settles under my chin. As he turns it to the light, his jaw jumps.
I can only imagine what the hell I look like. “I’m fine.”
“I need to know who that is and where he’s dealing,” Trace says, voice serious.
“I’ll text you the guy’s contact info when I can move my hand enough to type.”
“Ouch,” Rhys says, staring at my bruised knuckles. “This fucker is going to wake up any second. What am I—”
Lachlan doesn’t wait for Rhys to use his Irish Military tactical skills. He storms up to Rhys and grabs the dealer’s head.
The sound of a neck snapping is pretty unmistakable. It doesn’t matter that I’m a doctor. I have to look away. I don’t feel bad for the guy. I planned to kill him.
But with a hot-shot that would have taken him out in seconds.
What a mess.
“Great.” Rhys looks down at the dead guy. “What am I doing with him?”
“Wrap him up and freeze him at our warehouse until I have his identity,” Trace tells his brother.
“There’s another dead guy in the park,” I admit. “If you’re cleaning up dead bodies, Rhys.” I start to back away. “I have to get home. I have an early class tomorrow.”
“I appreciate you working to keep this shit off my streets,” Trace says, in a tone that sounds anything but appreciative. A warning is coming. “But I have a whole team with Connor to take people out.”
“These are dealers. I didn’t think you targeted them.”
Trace exhales, suggesting I’m right. He’s got bigger fish to fry around here.
“You’re stopping this crusade. Tonight,” Lachlan orders.
Heat flashes under my skin, hotter than blood. “Yeah, no problem.”
“This is not a joke, Cormac.” Lachlan hovers over me and whispers, “You’re a father. Remember that before you get yourself killed.”
My heart lurches so violently it’s almost a punch. “I know that.”
“We’re here because we give a shit,” Trace’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Does your wife know about this?”
You can hear a pin drop.
“You’re married?” Lachlan says, sounding annoyed that I managed to keep one damn thing a secret from him.
“Yeah. And how did you know I got married, Trace?” I say quietly and shake my head as the two trackers head into the park to pick up the dead dealer. “Does Shea know?”
“No,” Trace says.
For the first time in years, I feel like I’m drowning in lies and betrayal again. It’s sickening, and I can’t believe how easily it all poured out of me.
Lachlan shakes his head. “Get in the car.”
“I can walk.”
“I’m not asking, Cormac,” Lachlan says in such a deep, menacing voice that it gives me chills.
I get into the SUV, and my brother takes a seat in the back with me. We drive for a few minutes, and then he turns to face me.
“Are you that angry with us for sending you to Dunbar?” he asks, looking straight ahead.
As the inaugural O’Rourke who was sent to that horrible place, Lachlan is the only person who understands.
“Yes and no. Yes, because I wasn’t through with my detox. That was the worst part.”
“You should have said something.” Lachlan puts his hand on my leg. “To me.”
It was a whirlwind of a day. I woke up in a shitty Seattle motel room, one where a mercenary sent to kill Darragh was staying.
I followed him. Killed him. Spent the day in a safe room.
Thanksgiving of all days. Later that night, I was flown back to Vegas to answer for my crimes and then was put back on the plane to Dunbar.
“I didn’t have a chance.”
“For the record, I didn’t agree with Kieran that day when he said no one gets extra points for saving one of us,” he admits.
“He was right. If we can’t trust each other, who can we trust?”
He cocks his head to me. “You’re not acting like you trust us. You got married without telling anyone.”
I stop him with a hand in the air. “It’s a marriage of convenience. The dean at my school requires professors to be married.”
Lachlan’s eyebrows cinch together. “Who did you marry?”
I can say I found someone on a dating app, but he’ll be on the phone with Balor the second he drops me off, and they’ll know the whole truth. “She’s a student. My student. Are you happy?”
Lachlan laughs. “Your student? Doc, I’m shocked. And also, a little proud.”
“I had a thing with her months before. Then she ended up in my classroom. I…” I stop. “I wanted her. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.”
A finger taps on my heart. “That’s another thing we have in common.”
He looks ready to say more, but then his cell phone rings. It sounds like a personalized tone. Me, forgotten, he taps the screen.
“Hello, my angels,” Lachlan says in his human voice.
“She’s fussy, Lachlan. She wants her daddy,” his wife Katya says from the screen I can’t see.
“I’m on my way, my love.”
I can’t complain that I wasn’t invited to his nuptials. He crashed Katya’s wedding to another man, killed the guy, and married her. Maybe that’s why he’s not crushing me further on my marriage.
“Yo, this is my block,” I say.
Still cooing into the phone at his daughter, Lachlan slaps the back headrest to stop the car.
It comes to a halt, and I reach for the handle to get out.
Lachlan stops me with a serious tug on my arm. “Kieran hosts Christmas Eve at Divona every year. It’s non-negotiable. Get your shit together. And if you’re keeping that wife of yours, we expect you to bring her.”