Chapter 30 Hellhounds Too
hellhounds too
Cian
Sariah snores. Not freight train snores, but she has a rhythm to her breathing.
She was mumbling when I cleaned her up and by the time I got back to bed, she was out.
And not a little out, like she mumbled or rolled toward me when I slid under the covers. Like dead to the world. The house could shake, and she’d never know. Out.
I roll her into my chest, not content to not be touching her. On my back, one hand behind my head, my feet tangling in my old sleep pants, and the happiest I’ve been in as long as I can remember.
All hell has broken loose—the demons are everywhere, the hellhounds too—and I don’t give a single fuck.
She’s in my arms.
I’m in her heart.
We love each other and, whatever fight comes our way, we’re in it together.
Something deep in me settles, like sand falling through the cracks to reinforce the rock. I don’t know.
But this is right.
We texted or talked from the time I dropped her off until she passed out long before I got home.
Rosie is stable. I can only guess that two emergency room visits in less than a month is killer on the body, the ego, and the finances. I’m missing something when it comes to her.
I don’t know which tactic to use to get the info we need. I don’t want to overstep Sariah’s relationship with her. But to protect my girls, nothing is off limits.
Renée will skip school tomorrow. Another one of those twice-in-one-month things that can’t become a regular occurrence.
She liked the motorcycle more than she hated it.
Though her mother seemed to feel the opposite.
It was a means to an end to get her daughter to safety, so she allowed it, but Liam having a road buddy is a nonstarter.
It’s a good thing, too. He’s not much for that.
He likes the open road. It’s therapeutic.
The solitary nature, not being contained, the freedom.
A teenager at his back or at his flank would not be okay.
Maybe later, but that later is a long while off and a very questionable maybe, even if said teenager will be his niece.
He headed to his house when I arrived home.
The woman at my side rolls her hips against me and makes a face as she sleeps.
All thoughts of my brother vanish.
Tonight was mind-blowing.
Mind. Fucking. Blowing.
It’s no exaggeration to say it was the best I ever had. This room still smells like sex and—
I cut off those thoughts or I’ll be rubbing one out in the dark like a teenager. Not that I haven’t thought and fantasized about the woman next to me. Not that I haven’t come picturing her face since seeing her again at my brother-in-law’s wine bar.
But now that I’ve had her again, and I know the feel of her body…
And… I have a semi. Down boy.
I pull Sariah closer into my body, splaying a palm on her naked ass and cupping her cheek. I get the impression she doesn’t normally sleep naked, but she was so out of it I couldn’t get her redressed.
Her thigh reaches over my hip and her ankle drops inside my knee. Her heat is against me and my semi is semi-ing.
I thought that adulthood would bring less spontaneous wood. But I hadn’t counted on Sariah.
I fall asleep, a small smile playing on my lips. Thank fuck for surprise blessings.
It’s the whimper that wakes me. And not one I’m used to. Eleanor is communicating something, and I learned early on not to ignore her.
I slide out from under Sariah, hearing her mumble something unintelligible, and pull the covers up over her naked body. Grabbing a pair of sweats and a tee, I follow Eleanor as she moves with purpose to the back door.
I grab the baseball bat from the hall closet but set it back down when I see why my dog was so discombobulated. On my back terrace is none other than my father, sitting as if he’s inconvenienced by waiting on me.
I grab a fleece, flip on the lights, and let myself out. Eleanor comes with me. Two birds, one stone, I guess. Maybe I can sleep in… if I can get back to sleep after this visit.
“Dad.” He’s not that. Not anymore, but I’ve always called him that and Seamus would get things off on the wrong foot for sure.
“Cian.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk. You haven’t taken my calls.”
I lift my brows. Calls don’t show when you block somebody. They go straight into the pit of digital purgatory, I guess. I don’t know. I also don’t care. So there’s nothing to say to that.
“I’m talking to you.” His face reddens as unchecked anger washes through him. “There’s business we need to discuss.”
Thank fuck I had Sariah’s sweet pussy twice last night. It’s the only reason I’m so mellow. “We’re no longer in business together. I’m no longer a part of Murphy Enterprises.”
“The fuck you aren’t.” His meaty fist pounds on the stone table.
“Calm yourself.” I look toward the house but return my gaze as not to give away that I have guests.
“You are in charge while I’m ‘on administrative leave.’ That should look okay to the outside world. I won’t lose everything I’ve worked for.”
“Okay, then.” My acquiescence doesn’t tip him off.
“Right. We need to discuss the Lakewood project.”
“Not if you’re on administrative leave. I have it from here.” I push to stand. “Good night.”
“Sit your ass down, boy.”
I turn, not leaning in, not giving in, not bothered at all by the man who would sacrifice me and then think he can dictate how I work based on his whims. “You’re trespassing. Leave or I’ll call the cops.” I whistle.
Eleanor, who’s been sniffing around the back after her potty break, comes to my side, sitting like she’s trained to do.
“If you’re not gone in three minutes, I’ll send security footage”—I nod to the camera on the corner of the house—“to the PD and the Sheriff’s office. I’m sure they’d be quick to respond to a drug trafficker who is trespassing.”
“Fuck you, Cian. I’m your father. You will not treat me like this.”
“You’re nothing to me but a squatter in my life, and I will treat you as such.”
I turn my back on him, knowing that dismissing him is harder on his pride than anything I could say. “Come on, Eleanor. Time for bed.”
I close and lock the door, giving my pup scratches behind her ears and across her neck.
As my father’s car drives off, I send a message to our IT and accounting teams, copying legal counsel.
All,
Seamus Murphy is on administrative leave indefinitely.
Per his request, I will helm Murphy Enterprise moving forward.
Please lock his building access cards, all email and server permissions, and bank access immediately.
Please confirm when done and keep operations moving smoothly during this transitional time.
Cian Murphy
Why I didn’t think of it before is a huge facepalm moment. But it’s done now.
Ayla has spent nearly three weeks on my books.
Her passion is photography, but our father forced a business degree on her just as he did on me.
She focused on accounting, but refused to sit the CPA exam, knowing her gift for numbers was far outweighed by her creative talents.
She got the degree, all the while trying to figure out how to avoid getting under our father’s thumb.
She hates accounting. She hates our father more, and never wanted to be in the family business. Here she is elbow deep in analysis of the company, sorting out his mess, and not being able to live her passion.
I owe her a fucking coffee bean farm—or stock in one—as a thank you.
I have no intention of keeping or managing M.E. If I’m in charge, I’ll happily close the business. The ultimate fuck you to Seamus Murphy is putting him on leave then shuttering the doors to his company while acting in his stead.
Fuck yes. This is going to be fun.
I start another email.
Christian,
I’ll have several solid staffers who will need new employment within the next month. If you have vacancies, can we discuss?
Cian
The least I can do is provide an option for those I will soon put out of work. Phoenix will rise, but I don’t know our operating capital yet. We’ll see. My network will step up for the employees worth hiring. The average ones will weed themselves out.
Sariah
The rising sun is warming my eyelids when Cian spoons into me. He’s fully dressed and I’m… naked.
I don’t sleep naked. I never have. Growing up, that was too risky.
At Randy and Rosie’s, I was young, and it would’ve been weird.
By the time I had Renée, it was unthinkable.
So, the smooth, high-thread-count sheets below me and the sweatpants folded behind my knees and whatever the logo is on Cian’s tee has me wiggling.
His lips hit the top of my head. “Morning, Angel. Your hair smells like citrus and vanilla.” He hums as he kisses the ball of my shoulder. “But your body smells like sex.”
I push my ass back into his warmth. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a man with a full heart and an exhausted cock. So, really, really well. You?”
“I don’t remember sleeping this well since— Where’s Renée?”
“She hasn’t made a break for it. So she’s wherever you left her last night. Guest room, I’d guess.” He reaches around to lace his fingers with mine and pull our joined hands to my chest.
“Do you want to sleep in? Or would you like a shower?”
I stretch long like a cat in a ray of sunshine. “Both?”
His laughter shakes me. “All right. Get some rest.” He kisses my shoulder again. “I’m jumping in the shower. You could always join me…” He lets the sentence drift off as he exits the bed, leaving my skin warm, but the air around me cool in his absence.
The shower switches on, and I roll toward his pillow, his scent lingering. I could stay here for days and never leave. But then I’d have to explain to my daughter why I’m in his bed.
And I’m so not up for that with a mind as sharp as hers and a tongue as witty. Tossing back the covers, I roll toward the wall of windows and exit the bed. I’m sore. My thighs, my calves, my insides. In the best possible ways, I feel our connection from last night.