Chapter 25 Verity
Verity
My phone buzzed, pulling me from a dream involving Ronan and Conal. Naked. When I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and opened them, I saw a message from Conal reminding me we were restarting my self-defense lessons this morning.
Fuck my life.
The last thing I felt like doing was hitting the gym with Mr. Grumpy, who'd barely said one word to me since he caught me in bed with Ronan. I wasn't sure what happened after I flew back to my room, but Conal had walked into the kitchen the following morning with one hell of a black eye.
Ronan had disappeared that same day, but he'd been messaging me ever since, which had eased my anxiety about his motives.
I wasn't sure what had taken him away within hours of Conal walking in on us.
Some job he had to do for Declan, or so Mrs. O'Mara told me when I casually inquired.
That was the point I tuned out of the conversation.
Asking questions about the Kelly family's business was a bad idea. The less I knew, the better.
The pounding in my head increased exponentially. I desperately needed coffee. In the days since the accident, my bruises had faded, but I still had a recurring headache. Google said I might have a traumatic brain injury, but I decided Google was an ass.
Once I'd dressed in a pair of shorts, a sports bra, and a loose tee, I shuffled down to the gym, collecting a bottle of water on the way. Conal stood waiting, his mouth a flat line.
"You're late," he snapped, arms folded across his chest, drawing my attention to the broad expanse of muscle on display. His arm seemed OK now. Unlike me, he’d recovered quickly.
"Sorry." I walked to the bench by the mirrors and placed my water bottle there. When I turned around, Conal's jaw ticked in irritation at my tardiness.
He and Ronan were identical, but also different. Conal wore his hair shorter and whereas Ronan favored casual clothes, Conal liked to dress smarter. I'd always seen Conal as the nicer one of the two, but there were no smiles for me today.
"Warm up on the treadmill for ten minutes.
" The scowl on his face had my stomach roiling with anxiety.
Was he mad at me? It sure seemed like it.
A more confident woman would have insisted on a conversation to clear the air between us, but that woman wasn't me.
Denial, deflection, and avoidance were my preferred dispute resolution strategies.
I nodded and jumped on the nearest treadmill, setting the speed to a slow jog. After five minutes, my gut cramped with nausea. Running and I were not compatible. With a body like mine, I wasn't built for athletic pursuits, apart from vigorous sex.
Now there was a fitness plan I could get on board with.
After ten minutes, I almost fell off the treadmill, cringing hard at the sight of my tomato-red face in the mirror. Red was not my color. It clashed horribly with the yellow tones in my complexion.
"Get on the mats," Conal barked, still refusing to look at me. Bastard.
My temper flared. How dare he slut shame me! It wasn't like I'd gone out of my way to fuck his brother. And besides, Conal had kissed me too before it all went to hell.
Was he jealous?
"Is that wise?" I looked pointedly at his shoulder. "I thought you'd hurt your arm."
"It's fine. I’m fully recovered. Do you remember what we practiced last time?"
I cast my mind back. A total blank. Conal rolled his eyes at my sheepish head shake.
"OK, I'll go back over the basics and then we'll move on to some other stuff. Nothing complicated," he added when he saw my alarmed expression.
We spent the next hour repeating the same simple moves.
Again and again. If Conal's intention was to dumb this shit down, he'd earned himself a gold star.
Even I had cracked it after 20+ repetitions, and I was now confident I could escape if an assailant grabbed me from behind or pinned me to the floor.
Possibly.
"Tomorrow, we're heading to the gun range." Conal's words caught me by surprise as I gulped down some tepid water. "Given recent events, it might be helpful if you can comfortably handle a gun."
"Gun?" I sounded like Alvin the Chipmunk on crack, but guns scared me. And besides, there was no way on this earth I would ever have the lady balls to shoot anyone. Not even if they came at me with an ax. Hell, I couldn’t even kill spiders, for fuck's sake, even though they terrified me.
"Yes, gun. Meet me in the kitchen at 10 AM." After that terse instruction, he grabbed his towel and stalked out of the gym, leaving me a sweaty mess on the mat.
At 9:55 AM the following morning, I girded my loins and headed downstairs, ready for a fun time on the gun range. Hell, I hadn't even known there was a gun range.
When I stepped into the kitchen, hoping to grab a coffee, Declan stood chatting to Mrs. O'Mara. He looked up and scanned me from head to foot, briefly lingering on my boobs.
A familiar blush colored my cheeks. Choosing a tight workout tee for a shooting lesson was clearly a bad idea. Did he think I looked slutty? Was he aware I'd fucked his younger brother?
Conal knew, obviously, but I wasn't sure if he'd told Declan. I prayed not. That would be too embarrassing for words.
"How are you, Verity?" Declan dismissed Mrs. O'Mara and turned to face me.
"Um, good?" My body still ached, but mostly because of the gym session yesterday.
"You don't sound sure about that," Declan remarked dryly. "Do I need to call Doctor Brewster back for a follow-up appointment?"
"No, I'm fine!" I smiled brightly, trying my best not to stare at his broad shoulders in what looked like an Armani suit. Damn, the man was sex on a stick, and unavailable, I reminded myself.
Conal appeared wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Gray sweatpants. Fuck my life. Now I didn't know where to look. Dark and dangerous mafia man in a suit, or hot and sexy mafia man in gray sweatpants. Either way, I was damned.
He briefly glanced in my direction, showing zero emotion. "Ready?"
I nodded before following Conal outside, Declan's silent gaze tracking me every step of the way as we left the kitchen.
Conal stood behind me as I handled the gun he'd given me with great trepidation. The thought of killing anyone made me feel ill. Although I’d become largely de-sensitized to violence, I didn't have a violent bone in my body.
Unlike my murderous sister.
"Squeeze the trigger gently," Conal instructed. "Focus on the target and shoot."
I screamed as the gun discharged, throwing me back against his chest. Even with ear protectors, the noise deafened me. It was a miracle I hadn’t suffered hearing loss after he killed the man who rammed our car.
Maybe shock had dulled my senses then. It was the only explanation.
"Let's try again." Conal sighed as he examined the paper target. No holes whatsoever.
I dutifully did as I was told, missing the target each time. When he sighed again, I burst into angry, frustrated tears.
"I'm not Thea!" Even to my own ears, I sounded like a spoiled, petulant princess, but I was sick of people expecting me to be like my sister: fearless and capable.
Even if our father hadn't subjected her to all kinds of sick shit, she'd still be the same person, just without as much blood on her hands.
Conal's expression softened. He took the gun from me, checked to make sure the safety was on, and placed it on the bench. Then he cupped his hands around my face and stared down at me with intensity in his gray eyes.
Gray like the stormy sea. Gray like my world.
"Sweetheart, nobody expects you to be like your sister." Tears leaked down my cheeks, adding to my sense of shame. Thea didn't cry over stupid shit. She was a badass woman with five sexy husbands, two adorable kids, a successful business, and an amazing life.
Meanwhile, I had no fucking idea what I was doing with my life, no boyfriend, no home, and I couldn't even hit a stupid paper target.
Conal wiped away my tears with his thumbs while I sniffed. Was his ex-girlfriend a pretty crier? I wasn't. When I cried, I ended up covered in snot. Not attractive at all.
"Being able to hit a target takes time and a lot of practice. We'll practice every day until you're more comfortable handling a weapon, OK?"
"Not sure you'll have time to fit that in as well as teach me self-defense and do your job." If he wanted to drop the gym sessions, I was down with that.
"You're not quitting the gym," he warned, reading my mind. "Ronan is back tonight, so he can help you with that." From the way his lip curled, he suspected his twin might have other ideas about what to 'help' me with.
"I'm rubbish at that, too."
"You're not rubbish at anything, sweetheart. Have faith in yourself."
This time I stayed quiet, even though Conal was dead wrong. I couldn't think of anything I was actually good at, apart from displaying spectacularly bad judgment when it came to men and relationships.
"Sure, whatever." I couldn't prevent an eye roll.
Conal frowned.
"Sweetheart, stop that shit right the fuck now. You're amazingly strong. You survived a fucked-up childhood, made a new life here, earned a place at college, and we all love you."
My brain snagged on the last bit.
"You love me?"
Conal cleared his throat and stepped back. "Of course we love you, sweetheart. You're like a sister to us."
His words landed like a punch.
All my hopes and dreams turned to ash. Conal saw me as a sister. Nothing more. I doubted Ronan saw me as anything more than a casual fuck, either. Yes, he'd been messaging me constantly, but I'd heard enough about his antics over the years to know this pattern of behavior was typical for him.
Ronan fell hard and fast, then lost interest just as quickly.
I was living on borrowed time.
"Are we done here?" I no longer cared if my face was all blotchy and covered in snot. It wasn't like I needed to impress anyone.
Conal frowned at my brusque question, but nodded. "Yeah. Go get some breakfast, sweetheart. I have shit to do."
Since I wasn't hungry, I went straight to my bedroom, stripped off my clothes, and fell back into bed. With nothing else to do for the rest of the day, sleep seemed like the best use of my time.