Chapter 3 - Ava
“Thank you.”
I took the bowl of cold fruit from the steward, his hazel eyes and smile fixed on me. I looked at the silver name tag on his jacket, “Axel”, and smiled at him.
His cheeks blushed before he walked away.
“He likes you.” The crispness of Declan’s deep voice interrupted my thoughts.
I set the bowl aside, munched on a strawberry, wiggled my legs, and looked out the window.
“He can’t,” I stated. Then, threw him a glance, just long enough to not get caught—like I’d been doing for half an hour since our jet left the runway. There was no special reason for this. He just looked better than the view of white clouds and blue skies—at least, that was my way of convincing myself that I did not have a crush on him.
Blond taper-fade, crisp well-tailored suit, broad shoulders, and long legs that lightly brushed mine when he crossed one over the other.
I looked away, scared to be drawn in too deep, and put a grape in my mouth. I repeated, “He can’t.”
The sound of paper rustling settled between us when he flipped the page of some boring business magazine on his thigh. “Why can’t he?” He asked with a raised eyebrow but didn’t look at me.
I shrugged. “You know why.”
I could almost feel the warmth of his smirk on my skin. “Go on. Enlighten me.”
Footsteps approaching the lounge made me raise my head, and when I did, my eyes met with Axel’s. Now I was sure that he blushed. The red on his cheeks and neck couldn’t be more obvious and his cuteness enhanced his youthfulness. There was no way he was older than me.
A little annoyance settled within me, and I ignored his not-so-subtle eye signals, facing Declan head-on. “Besides the obvious reason that he could be some eighteen-year-old boy trying to make a life for himself, you know why the young man can’t like me.”
“You’re not much older.”
You aren’t either.
I deadpanned. It was almost... insulting. “I am twenty-two.”
“Your point?”
My jaw almost hit the ground. Choosing to ignore his total disregard that I was already, technically, recognized as a woman in society and not a teenager, I fired on. “My point is the lad can’t like me.”
I saw the curve of Declan’s lips even more clearly now, and it was more enchanting than I thought.
“Honestly?” He raised a brow. “I don’t ...” He sighed and closed the magazine, placed it on his thighs, and folded his arms. “I don’t see why he can’t like you when you are, in fact, one of the few likable women I’ve met. And trust me, I’ve met lots of women.”
He didn’t have to remind me. The memories of the red-haired stripper touching him between his legs had scarred me for life. But knowing he was no saint didn’t stop me from reacting to his compliment very positively.
Tugging on the hem of my Lady Liberty branded crop shirt, I tried to think of how to respond to that. That was the most we had said to each other for the last year after we met. He was walking out of Dad’s office in what I’d assumed to be an intense meeting—judging by the grim look he had plastered on his face—and I’d bumped into him.
Besides my father, Declan was the only man I knew who had as busy a schedule as he did. He was constantly in and out of the house, taking care of several businesses at once. It was admirable, and even when he came back into the house with blood on his shirt and a black pistol in his grip, he remained fascinating in my eyes.
“My father,” I managed to say. “You know how he is. He gets fiercely overprotective.”
“You mean caring.”
I rolled my eyes. Leave it to him to take Dad’s side. “I’m under surveillance 24/7, I don’t have friends anymore, and I can’t go back to my old job.”
“Aye, but you have me.”
My jaw slacked and I stared at him wide-eyed. “My point exactly.”
He smiled and combed his fingers through his hair. “It’s not that bad. Your father loves you, and thats saying a lot for a man with a heart carved from the hardest ice in the Arctic.”
I should have gotten used to it, the new norm with my father and Declan. They expected me to adapt to what my life had become. It wasn’t hard; I adapted quickly. But sometimes I wished I didn’t have to cut my travels short because my dad wanted me to.
Which led me to the next question.
I put two grapes in my mouth and leaned back in my chair. “Why did he call me back?”
All the playful hints in his eyes and smile vanished. “Trust me, it’s for your safety,” he said with a tone of finality. That meant no more questions. Suddenly the magazine was more interesting than talking to me.
I did not press. There would have been no point either. If Dad was a man with a heart of ice, Declan was a brick wall. His no was a no, and his yes was just as rigid. The two of them made a very good—or rather mean-ass—pair of steel. No wonder Dad made him his second-in-command.
Soon the pilot announced that we were landing, and the steward came forward to help us with our luggage, which was practically mine anyway. I felt sorry for the lad. Whatever he had for me, he had it bad. The red heat had spread to his ears, and it shimmered in the bright sun as he rolled the suitcases.
Shaking my head, I walked next to Declan to the black Ashton Martin sitting prettily in front of a line-up of black Audis behind them. We exchanged a look, and I rolled my eyes. He seemed amused.
“What?”
I got into the passenger seat, fastened my seatbelt, and stared at him as he got in. My mouth fell open as he closed the door. “We couldn’t be more obvious, could we?”
He chuckled and the rich sound sent a tingle down my spine. The engine purred and we drove off while the rest of the cars followed behind us. “You deserve the best. And your father would rip my head off if I did anything less.”
I propped my elbow against the window and stared at the blur of buildings as we drove to the O’Sullivan estate. It was pointless, and he was right that his head would be ripped off if he didn’t organize adequate protection. No exaggeration there.
The ride was quiet and at some point, I thought I’d dozed off. My head slipped from the window and dropped with a nod. I stretched out my arms and yawned wildly before snapping my mouth shut again. Embarrassed, I turned my head slowly toward the driver’s seat, thinking he’d seen that. But Declan’s eyes were rock hard fixed on something else; his jaw was locked tight, and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
I followed his murderous gaze past the windows, and when I saw the scene with the black Mercedes Benz surrounding us on the country road, my heart dropped into my stomach.
“Ava.” I turned my head toward him. The murderous look had not left his eyes. An eerie darkness swam in the depths of the icy blue.
“Declan, what’s—”
“Na teacht amach as an gcarr.” [Do not get out of the car] “No matter what. Stay inside.”
I could hardly hear him. My heart pounded violently against my chest and the blood rushed into my ears in a frenzy. “Declan ...”
“Ava, did you hear me?” His stern tone forced me to nod. Hot tears burned in my throat and stung my eyes. But I had no intention of shedding them. The past year with my father had taught me to have a thick skin. “Big girls shouldn’t cry, Mo leanbh, [my child],” he used to say. “Don’t let anything get you down. Never give up.”
Before I could say a word, Declans seatbelt was unfastened, and he was out the door with that damn black gun in his grip.
I watched his solid back as he walked toward the strange cars. More of my father’s men followed close on his heels, clutching their rifles and Glocks tightly. When they reached the wide center, one of the car doors opened and a tall man in the finest suit got out.
The air seized in my lungs and my heart raced faster than a record-breaking sprinter on the track. No ...
Everything came back to my mind; the first time I saw him, when he held me prisoner in that old basement cell, and his harsh words echoing in my ears.
You are at my mercy, milaya.
Shit! He found me. And worse, he was as sinfully handsome as ever. He had the same ghostly eyes with a hollowness that could suck out any soul that looked too long. His suit was tailored to perfection, it seemed almost inadequate to contain the raw power within. The corporate fa?ade hid neither the black ink shimmering through the collar of his shirt nor the violent turbulence in his posture as he marched forward with his silver gun raised in the air.
It happened fast. But I saw it coming. The anger, the determination, the pull of the trigger.
Before Declan reacted with a counter-defense, ricocheting sounds of bullets pierced the air and my father’s men dropped to the ground like potato sacks. He was the only one left standing and he was livid.
“You fucking piece of shit!” Declan bellowed.
Our attackers rushed at him, knocked the gun out of his hand, and pushed him to his knees in front of my worst nightmare. He raised a fist in the air, and I couldn’t wait. I pushed the door open and ran toward them as fast as my legs would carry me. But I was too late.
His fist came down on Declan’s face and his knee hit his jaw. He crumpled to the asphalt, fine suit, blond hair, and all.
“You Irish mutts always make things difficult for us.”
“Youre complaining because you cant handle us, Russian scum,” Declan spluttered, blood trickling from his burst lips.
Viktor looked at the brawny, bald man standing next to him and pulled one corner of his mouth up into a cocky grin. “The dog is still talking.”
“Stop!” I ran to them and fell to my knees to cradle his head on my lap. A tear accidentally slipped and fell on his cheek. Viktor’s men pointed their guns at me, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t watch Declan get hurt.
Against the warnings of all the voices in my head telling me not to look, I lifted my head and met the coldness in his dark eyes. “Stop hurting him.”
We glared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Something flickered in his gray irises, which sparkled like diamond stars in a pitch-black sky. His penetrating stare haunted me with irritation and savage charm all at once. My heart fluttered like a butterfly as his smirk widened into a grin.
He crouched to our level and my breath caught as his familiar scent tickled my nose and sparked memories from twelve months ago. It made me light-headed, and a shiver ran through my body. He was so close; I could smell cherry in his breath. His gaze flickered back and forth between my face and Declan’s. Then he growled something in Russian that I couldn’t understand.
“Ty zabotish’sya o nem.” You care about him.
His expression became angry as he stood up and pointed at the bald man. In a flash, his men dragged me away from Declan and held me down as they stomped on his body again and again, anywhere their shoes could touch.
More tears dropped on my cheeks and my heart squeezed. If I had to, I was finally going to do the one thing he’d always wanted from me. I was going to beg.
As I knelt on the ground, still in the firm grip of two of his men, I looked up at him through wet eyelashes. “Please, I’m begging you. Stop hurting him.” Declan’s pained grunts and curses in the background made me cry harder. “Why—Why are you doing this? He’s done nothing to you, he is only protecting me.”
He shrugged; a wicked glimmer danced in his eyes. “He failed. And your sweet Papa—he messed with us, so this is the price to pay. Fedor ...”
The last thing I saw was the flash of satisfaction on his face before I was dragged off the ground by the huge man called Fedor. Panic rose in my chest as the world was turned upside down. I dangled over his broad shoulder like a rag doll, my hair hanging in the air.
“No!” Declan growled from behind us.
“No hard feelings,” I heard the mockery in Viktor’s voice even if I couldn’t see his face. “Nothing personal; just business.”
“Fuck—No! Ava! Let her go!”
“Can’t do that, Dicklan. Time for chit-chat is up. Tell Cian I have Ava; he knows what to do.”
I struggled against the brawny man, but his grip was so tight that his fingers pushed through my jeans and were hot against my skin. He flung me into one of the cars and closed the door. The tires screeched on the asphalt and the cars drove off one after the other, and slowly the sight of Declan’s bloodied face faded until it was no longer visible.
I wrapped my arms around my body and slammed my head on the headrest of the back seat. He kept his promise.
Trust me, it doesn’t matter how far you run. I promise I will always find my way to you.
But it didn’t matter, I would get out of this situation just like last time.