CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Connor
L uxe is loud tonight. Or maybe it’s my head.
The DJ’s bass shakes the walls, but these kids like it loud.
Kid...
Fuck, where did my youth go? I’m thirty-seven, and that empty feeling I had at Da’s memorial service creeps back into my bones.
Rhys and Trace talk about weapon shipment routes and concerns about a squad. A team of brats led by Kip Hendrix.
“He tends to wander,” Trace mutters, leaning in. “His wife left him, and I worry he’s off the rails.”
Rhys nods. “I’ll get someone to keep an eye on him.”
My man-bun cousin turns his eyes to me in a knowing stare.
After we cleaned up Raina’s attackers, I bought the guy a pint to get a more in-depth take on her and gut-check my sanity.
He didn’t say much other than he found her cagey as hell, already in cahoots with his stalker neighbor, and that the empty briefcase was left on his doorstep by the time he got home after the cleanup.
Raina must have sent the cab there before going home.
“Now I have two stalkers,” Rhys said that afternoon. “Thanks, cuz.”
He trusts I know what I’m doing. Do I, though? Know what I’m doing?
I stare at the swarm of bodies on Luxe’s dancefloor through the haze of lights. Dancers are all grind and desperation. None of it touches me. None of it stirs me.
Not when Raina’s absence crushes my ribs with every breath I take.
It’s been a week since I’ve seen her, smelled her, tasted her.
Seven days since she aimed a gun at my chest and didn’t pull the trigger.
Seven sunsets since I let her walk away when I should’ve pinned her down and made her face this thing between us.
And now? Silence. No knives. No revenge. No Raina.
That woman was fire heating my skin. Now her absence feels like blistering ice.
I’m one day away from showing up at her place. But she might have eyes on her. And guns. I can’t take out someone without knowing who put the hit on me.
It’s all just too quiet. Every night when I get home, I expect to see her in my living room. Since she’s not there, I fall asleep with a hard dick and a pounding head.
Shane slides into the booth beside me, slamming a glass down. “I swear the shite my wife goes through running this place.”
“Is that why you’re here every night?” I ask him. “You killed the previous Albanian kyre , I doubt they’re coming back.”
“Noel Tahiri is a coward,” Shane bites out. “I wish he’d show up here, so I can fucking kill him, too.”
Trace sits back and strokes his forehead. “Is that common knowledge? That you killed Levin Berisha, Shane?”
“I hope so.” My brother’s savage grin gives me the chills.
“If Noel comes looking for revenge, he’ll leave in a body bag, too,” I mutter.
Shane lifts a brow. “You want a shot next time?”
“Maybe.” I finish my drink.
I want to leave. The perfume in this club is making me sick. It’s not Raina’s, and I’m fucking unraveling.
I look up and see a trio of barely dressed girls materialize at the edge of our booth. They’re all glossed lips and practiced giggles. One makes a beeline for me. She must have heard I’m the single one who fucks to forget.
Or I used to.
One woman doesn’t even ask. Just slides into my lap, arms hooking around my neck. It happens so fast, but this isn’t the place to make a scene or fast moves.
“Can I help you?” I ask with an attitude.
“Hey, handsome,” she purrs. “I’m in town for two more nights. Staying at the Park Inn.” She presses a key card into my hand. “Room 814.”
Her breath hits my cheek, and I go still.
I grab her wrist. Not hard, just enough to send a message. Not you.
“You’ve got five seconds to get off my dick and walk away before I ruin your night.” I hand the key card back.
Her smile falters, and she hops off, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Her friends follow her with stunned gazes as they look back at the table. They’re set on the other man without a wedding ring.
Rhys smiles and waves them off. Not that I would expect him to take my discards, but he can. Unless he’s more stuck on that neighbor of his than he wants to admit.
Shane sips his drink, wisely silent.
“What’s got your knickers up your arse?” Trace asks me with one eyebrow raised.
“Nothing.” I push out of the booth and straighten my suit jacket. “I’m going home.”
I have no idea why I get dressed up to come here, other than I don’t want to look like a slob next to Shane and Trace, who are in a contest to see who can buy the most expensive suits.
“My wife’s party is still going on upstairs.” Trace raises his chin to locate Shea-Lynne on the VIP balcony.
She’s an event planner and uses Luxe regularly for her high-end clients .
“What do you have to go home to?” Shane asks me, sounding concerned.
Or is he trying to trick me?
If I’m lucky, I’ll be going home to the barrel of Raina’s gun or the tip of her knife. I’ll take a bullet and get stitches at this point, I’m dying to fuck her so bad. It was one thing when I thought she was a ghost, one of those perfect aberrations that are just too goddamn to be true.
No, she’s real. And still a fucking mess.
My mess.
“I don’t answer to you, little brother.”
Shane’s face changes being called little. He’s as tall as I am, but he’s technically the youngest Quinlan from Da’s line. He and Sabine are twins, but she came out first.
“Night, lads.” I walk away with my head held high because I answer to no one.
Okay, I answer Griffin, but he’s not here.
Blade and Jett follow me out of Luxe. There’s a rhythm to their souls I’ve come to recognize behind me. I let them drive me here every night in Blade’s Denali.
“Front or back?” Blade asks which entrance of my place I want.
“My apartment. The chamber is clean.”
“Until tomorrow.” Jett cups Blade’s shoulder, sitting next to him, and Blade goes stock still.
Like he thinks I don’t know they’re fucking. We send them on assignments together, and Shane mentioned that they only return receipts for one hotel room.
Intriguing, but I have my own fucking love life to worry about.
Blade lets a car in the opposite direction pass and then makes a U-turn to drop me off. “Here you go, boss.”
I get out of the Blade’s Denali and bang on the roof to signal that all looks safe. From the street, my place looks haunted. Overgrown trees and broken, mismatched paving stones lead to my front door. When I unlock it, my muscles tighten.
Something’s off.
I smell her before I see her. That cinnamon apple shampoo is fucking unmistakable. Something wild and feral curls low in my gut.
I step inside and toss my keys into a bowl on a console table next to the front door.
And there she is.
Raina.
Waiting in the shadows with that custom 9mm raised. Her eyes are lit like a flame on the verge of blazing out of control. Like she’s been sitting here wrestling the devil in her head and finally picked a side.
Her voice is ice. “You’re late.”
I smile into the darkness. “Didn’t know you were here waiting for me, love.”
I should be terrified by the way she’s pointing that gun at me. So, I do what I do best.
Attack.