Chapter 2 #2
“I’m gonna ask you a question,” he says. Some of his shoulder-length black hair has escaped the tail at the nape of his neck. He looks like a biker who’s ridden out of hell with the devil on his six. “If you’re smart, you’ll answer.”
“And if you’re smart, you’ll let go of my goddamned arm.” I try to un-peel the steel bands he calls fingers from around my flesh. “Have you lost your mind?”
“What do you know about my thigh wound?”
Oh shit. My hand drops away as I look up at him. “Who says I know anything?”
“Killian. You used the words ‘bullet wound.’ Where’d you hear that? ”
Okay. Relief courses through me. I made a small slip, and War thinks I overheard something about his getting shot. I can handle that.
“I don’t know, War. I guess you must’ve been talking to Jamie about it when I was at the house.”
“No.” His dark gaze tries to open my skull to extract the information.
In turn, I try to look innocent as I lie. “Well then, I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.” He leans closer, assaulting my senses with the appealing scents of sandalwood, liquor, and something inescapably masculine. Shouldn’t he smell like brimstone and sulfur? Or maybe blood and sweat?
“I want the truth.”
“You can’t handle the truth,” I deadpan in my best Jack Nicholson impression.
“Girl, you are?—”
“War,” a deep voice booms.
Turning my head, I find the source of the voice.
It’s Connor, who along with Scotty, is coming out of the reception hall to join us.
C is really muscular and has buzzed dark hair, but it’s the deadly expression that makes him look most menacing right now.
The fact that he has killed without regret is written all over his face.
By comparison, my brother is relatively clean-cut. He’s not tatted up, nor is he bulky with muscles. Scott looks more like a model from the pages of GQ than a hardened criminal. But looks are deceptive.
Scott’s narrowed eyes focus like a laser on War’s grip on my arm.
“War,” I whisper, deadly serious now. “If my brother thinks you’re hurting me, things will not go well. For your sake, let go.” I infuse my voice with gentleness. Instinctively, I know nothing else will work .
“I want an answer.” War’s voice is a whisper, too, but he’s a giant so his low baritone still sounds threatening.
“Hey, War?” Scott’s voice is deceptively cool and calm. His approach is like a cobra’s, and when something barely makes a sound, you might not realize the depth of the danger. “Get your hands off her.”
War should know how reckless it is to ignore these guys. He trained under them. And since they’re presenting a unified front, letting me go is his best and only option.
Instead, War’s eyes are locked on my face, like we’re the last two people on earth in a nuclear winter. “Answer me, and I’ll let you go.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch a movement so dangerous it freezes the breath in my lungs. Scott unbuttons his suit jacket and reaches in to where his gun is holstered.
My hand rises in a stop gesture, wordlessly asking Scotty for a few seconds more.
“Come on,” I whisper to War. Moving my free hand, I set it against War’s torso, which feels suspiciously like stone under the expensive fabric of his suit.
“Trick told you, right?” War asks.
“What? No.” I tilt my head and give War an imploring expression. I do not want to be the cause of my cousin’s best man being gunned down at the reception. Or of my brother being arrested for his murder. “No one told me .”
C and Scott move in, so they’re on either side of us now, crowding War. C is trying to speak sense to his nephew. And I’m pretty sure Scott has the muzzle of his gun shoved against War’s ribs.
Then, as if weighing my words, War’s brows pinch together and his head tips back, so he’s looking up at the hall’s fluorescent lights.
Instantly, his fingers release my arm, and his hand drops to his side.
“So, then… What the fuck?” he mutters. War turns toward Scott, dark gaze zeroing in.
“You paid me a bonus, Trick. I assumed that was for having J’s back in recent weeks.
You let me think so, though we never talked details. Why didn’t we?”
Uh-oh. My heart pounds harder. Is War catching on? If so, I’m worried about what his reaction will be. Anger is his main emotion most days already.
Scott’s free hand slides between my body and War’s, pushing me away. “Go back into the reception, baby.”
Taking a couple of steps back, I exhale. “Let’s all go back in. This was just a misunderstanding.” My voice is cajoling and light. I can smooth things over. If they’ll let me.
“Go on inside, Ashling,” C says. “We’re good now.”
“Why did you pay me that bonus, Trick?” War asks in a pointed tone that sounds anything but good.
“You should take a walk outside,” Scott tells War. “Get some air. Sober up.”
C nods. “Yeah, let’s take a walk, kid. You and me.”
War’s gaze flicks to his uncle, and then to me. Finally, he exhales a sound that’s half amused, half angry. When his attention slides back to my brother, he says, “You gonna shoot me, Trick? Or just tickle my ribs like you wanna fuck me?”
My jaw drops. Is he baiting my hitman brother? For a split second, I can’t breathe. Then, my OG Patrick genes kick in.
“Jesus, War,” I hear myself say in a snarky tone. “You’re such a drama queen.” My hand reaches out to touch Scott’s arm. “C’mon, Scotty. I think I hear Mom calling. Jamie and Sawyer may be cutting the cake.”
I know the instant the reminder of the wedding, and of all the innocent relatives just feet away, lands. Scott’s lips twitch, almost into a smile, and after a beat, he winks at me.
He’s proud of me when I’m cool under pressure. From all accounts, Scott and Kat always are, too. It’s the other thing the three of us got from our dad.
To War, Scott says, “You’re lucky she stayed.” He takes a step back as his gun disappears under his coat. “Put your hands on her like that again, and it’s game over for you.”