CHAPTER 21
Quinn
Fuck, this feels good.
I knew one of my dad’s old soldiers was a mole and beating him senseless was the release I needed. Well, most of the release.
The other, I need to see about, and soon. Or else I’m going to embarrass myself, walking around here with a permanent hard on for my little angry hornet of a wife.
I take a long drag on my beer, trying to focus on the conversation around me.
Trying not to think about that very thin, very pretty, very rip-able dress.
Or relive the moment on the stairs when she melted into my side for a second, despite herself.
Or the other moment when I gave her a command I knew she’d hate and her eyes flashed with venom before she resumed her acting and started slowly down the stairs.
Damn, she’s fun to play with.
Like fire, though. I need to remember that. I don’t want to get burned. More importantly, I don’t want my whole world going up in flames.
I eat and laugh and talk with my men, but I’m distracted. Where is Luna? Did she defy me after all? Go to our room? She has to be hungry. I’m told she barely ate breakfast, skipped lunch and spent the entire day walking the property.
So…maybe a little more stoking the flames won’t hurt.
“Shelia!” I call out to the room, knowing someone close by will track her down for me.
She breezes up to me at the head of the table. “Yes?”
“Find Mrs. Quinn and tell her to come eat—”
I’m cut off as the woman herself comes in, seemingly the last person with a plate of food.
I fight a smile as I watch her. She clearly heard my summons and is buzzing with irritation.
But my smile dies because her sweater is off her shoulders and that dress hugs her tits and, as she’s the last one in, every pair of eyes is glued to her.
“You rang, husband?” She says sweetly to me once she’s reached my side. I missed that she’s got her damn dog with her in its purse, now level with my face.
I glare at it, then her. “No dogs inside, remember?”
“But, baby,” she leans in, offering a clear view of her cleavage, then her voice becomes buttery as she pretends to lower the volume, but she clearly wants the men to hear. “After last night, and then again this morning, I convinced you, remember?”
Huh. She’s not whiny anymore. Still acting, but not the crazy caricature from before. So she can play along in front of the men. Convincingly. I adjust myself under the table and study her.
“Fine,” I say to her. “Someone fix him a bowl in the kitchen,” I say to anyone.
“I can—” She starts to walk behind me to the double doors but I catch her around the waist, shift my chair back, pick her up and deposit her onto my lap.
In her shock I’m not sure she even notices Sheila grab the dog off of her arm. I pull the chair back closer to the table and Luna remains stiff as a board, upright against the arm rest of my chair. I pull her into me.
“You need to eat, Lasairéan,” I say, handing her a piece of cornbread soaked in stew sauce. She’s frozen, mouth hanging open, staring at my fingers. I lean into her neck and speak into her ear. “Relax and eat, wife, or I will start spoon-feeding you in front of everyone.”
I lean away, pleased at how her lips are parted and her breaths have picked up. Pleased she’s not totally unaffected by me. It’s just not quite enough, I want to see more. And she still hasn’t taken the damn bread.
“Open.” I say, ready to feed her. And fuck me, she does. She sucks the bread from my hand, making sure to lick my fingers.
I clear my throat as she bats her lashes and says, “Thank you,” her voice breathy. She offers me a smile that is…shy.
Ah.
She almost had me going there for a second.
First unhinged, now she’s playing what, the sweetheart? Not fucking likely. She sets her plate down and moves to cut into a chunk of meat. Or, really, to shift her perfect ass in my lap.
“What does that mean? Lasairéan, I, um, couldn’t google it.” She asks, genuinely curious and falsely doe-eyed.
Focusing on my food and her little act—not her soft body—I grit out, “You won’t like it.”
“I’m shocked,” she laughs. She’s being sarcastic but still playing, no bite to her words.
I wouldn’t mind her new breathy tone and fluttering eyes, nor the way she moves or the little moaning noises she’s making about the stew, except I’m sure I’m not the only man who is enjoying the show.
Luckily Cormac and Collin distract everyone when they barge in late and take their usual seats by me at the end of the table.
Luna gives a silent smile to Mac when he says hello. But then when Collin sits and gives her a wave she stops eating and does a double take with her head. A real one, like those that only happen in the movies. She stares.
I fight a few urges that pulse through me.
Collin is a handsome fucker.
He’s also a lot closer to her age.
And he has an easy next-boy charm about him that I never minded. Until now.
“Hi,” She says back, sounding…affected.
“Right. We’re done.” I say, surprising myself, grabbing Luna by the waist and putting her upright, then standing close behind her.
“We are?” She asks me, still chewing. I grunt before pushing back the chair and stalking away, her tiny hand firmly in mine. She follows, though she fights for a second, pulling away to grab another roll from the bowl on the table.
As we go through the dining room, I’m stopped a few times. Well done, Boss. We showed that fucker, Boss. Skulls Quinn, Mother Fuckeeeers! All the words and men blur into white noise but I nod and pat their backs or shake their hands in agreement with them.
Once we make it out of the congested areas, Luna tenses, but fights what I’m guessing is the urge to pull her hand away.
“Quinn?” She stops in her tracks and shakes her head a bit.
Her voice sounds less sweet now. More real.
She steps closer and asks, “What exactly is going on around here?” I just cock an eyebrow.
She’ll have to be more specific. “Why do all these men live here? Why are they so young? Why do they all look like you and act like you and why do they all wash dishes and scrub toilets?”
“Everyone does everything here. We all pitch in. I thought Sheila explained.”
“Huh,” she says. I watch the wheels turning in her head. “That’s actually…kind of impressive.”
The sweet, false smile is back and she’s not done, so I wait. A couple men make their way around us carrying a few cases of beer. Patty smiles and says, “Been too long, Boss! Can’t fuckin’ wait to tear it up!”
I lift my chin at him and when I see Luna’s brow furrow even more I explain, “Throwing a party for finding the rat.”
“About that,” she starts. I cock my head and wait.
She goes on, “How? Who? I mean who could possibly have the balls to turn on you? You? There’s got to be big money or big power behind the scenes.
” Her fake concern leaves her tone as she starts rambling her thoughts aloud.
“It’s not my papa, maybe the Russians? Pissed that we got married?
Did you find out who the rat’s working for?
How’d you find him out at all? And what did you do to him after—”
I cut her off, “He lasted a week before I found him out. And his head was removed, sliced down the middle, and delivered to two interested parties.”
“Delivered to wh—”
“You worried about my enemies, wife?” I ask pointedly. “Don’t be. Sheila says you want to redecorate. That’s good. Focus on paint colors and shit. Leave my business to me.”
“Paint?”
I lean down so my eyes are at her level.
I lower my voice. “I hope it’s worry. Worry and not something else,” I take a slow look at her pushed up tits and exposed shoulders, graceful, thin neck and perfect face.
Her dark eyes swirl with emotions. “Not more scheming. Like trying to seduce me with this doe-eyed act, with your sweet, virgin pussy, just to dig up some dirt on my clan to send back to your father. It won’t work, Luna.
You think I can’t resist you? You think I’ll break?
I once lived on the land alone for six months.
Plus, it would be such a waste, such a shame.
I just told you what we do to exterminate rats around here,” I drag a knuckle down her cheek and remind her who she’s dealing with by adding, “and your face is much too beautiful to be split in two.”
I drop my hand and walk away.
I stalk to the gym and start my second work out of the day.
I sit and drink with the men at the party, laughing and listening to their stories and the familiar Irish drinking songs.
When I’m exhausted down to my bones I rise, look at my bedroom balcony, and decide to head in the opposite direction.
I walk to the woods and find some stillness, some quiet. Darkness. Home.
I contemplate sleeping outside.
Not because I want to.
I need to.
I spoke a big game to that siren back there but I have met my match. She’s not just sexy. The real her—strong and smart and angry—is also regal, queenly. Breathtaking.
And devious as fuck.
She is here to destroy me.
And I can’t fucking forget it.