Chapter 2
TWO
marlowe
My heart’s beating so fast it makes my head light. The gunfight…Jesus, I almost died back there. My hands won’t stop shaking.
But looking at Declan Murphy pointing a gun at me now, I realize I’m more furious than scared. And it has everything to do with this cheating snake.
I try to breathe, try to grapple with the fact that the man who almost took my virginity, who fingered me, used me, ghosted me, flirted with my friends while pretending I didn’t exist, kissed another woman in front of me...
The man I got my father to have arrested is here.
With me.
And I know I’m wet.
The weight of his body still presses down on me from under that truck, and I can feel the thick, hard rod of his erection between my thighs. But my brain still registers one unhelpful fact. He’s Murphy. Irish mafia. So that makes everything so much worse.
Or does it make it better? I don’t know anymore.
The low growl of his voice is like velvet gravel against my throat.
I swallow, keeping the moan down.
I should have bitten him harder.
Even though I think he might have saved my life.
Yet...now there’s the threat of his gun. Talk about mixed signals.
I force my scattered, fractured thoughts to meld. I need to focus. Get out of here.
I breathe in again.
He smells like he always did, with that scent of darkest sugar and smoke, whiskey and leather, intoxicating and distracting and hot enough to melt my insides.
But when I meet his gaze, the look in his eyes is cold, hard. Made of iced rock.
And I’m acutely aware he’s armed.
The gravity of this situation finally hits me.
Declan’s not going to shoot me...is he?
Because now that I think of it, I know why I was there, but him? Why was he? And why does he have a gun? I’m not an idiot—usually—but when I met the Irish charmer at a club a few years ago, I fell hard.
I mean, what’s not to like for a girl whose life’s been nothing but ballet and behaving?
Dark, Irish, charming, dangerous, reckless. He told me his last name was Murphy, which I never believed—after all, he told my friends at various times it was Jones, McMasters, Brown… and… I didn’t care.
I know Murphy’s real now. It’s the name that stuck when Daddy had him arrested.
But he slipped out of the charges of assault and robbery. Ones I made up.
Daddy has power; he pulled strings, and Mr. Declan Murphy was arrested. And then quietly released.
Because Declan, according to Daddy, has powerful and dark connections.
I know I shouldn’t have done it. On all levels, it was wrong. Stinging shame still haunts me. But he hurt me. I wanted to hurt back.
I didn’t care that he might actually be dangerous.
I should have known he was something else.
Something bad.
Dangerous in the true sense of the word.
Murphy. As in The Murphys. Irish mafia.
And he has a gun.
A lump burns in my throat. This, I suddenly realize, isn’t a game. He’s not a good guy I hate. He’s a bad one I despise. One I should be scared of. So… why aren’t I?
“You’re not going to shoot.” My voice wobbles.
“Think carefully, Molly,” he says, using the name he called me by mistake when we met, a name I’ve grown to hate like I hate him, “and answer me honestly.”
“Why were you there?” I ask, scrambling to get my thoughts in order.
“Drugs. Your turn.”
I start to shake.
I should have gotten my father to throw bigger, nastier accusations at him, gotten Daddy to pay someone off to misplace his paperwork. Then again, we might be rich; Dad’s old money, but against organized crime? We’re nothing at all.
A sharp pain hits my heart. Daddy is why I’m here.
And now...
Where the hell is Leon? My friend is the one with all the connections, and my only link to the scattered breadcrumbs about my missing father.
We connected after he met my dad at some ballet donor event a while back.
We’d get together every so often for drinks and dinner after that.
And after Daddy went missing a few weeks ago, he said he’d help me find him.
Mom believes he ran off. And she won’t talk about Daddy and his so-called debts.
“Please take me home.” I grip the sides of the seat. “I won’t ever tell anyone I saw you. I shouldn’t have been there either.” My eyes blur. “Please put the gun down. You’re scaring me.”
He leans in, those aqua green eyes I’ve dreamed about, the sensuous mouth, high cheekbones—he’s too close, and even through the fear I want to kiss him. Just one more time.
I need to stop. I—
“Let me get this straight, Molly lass,” he murmurs, tracing the gun along my cheek and then under my lips. “I’m scaring you?”
“Yes.”
He shifts in the seat, moving a little closer.
The gun trails down my throat, and for one terrible second…
one crystalline moment of clarity…I think he’s actually going to shoot me.
My lungs freeze. But then the gun keeps moving, and the fear twists into something darker. Something that makes my thighs clench.
He lowers the zipper of my jacket and continues the exploration with the gun, between my breasts trapped in the dance top I’m wearing. Then he trails it over my stomach to stroke it against my clit in my sweats, and I can’t help it, I move, too, parting my thighs. Just a little.
It feels so good.
My clit throbs in the most delicious way, sending tendrils of need sliding through my blood.
I part my thighs a little more.
Declan notices. He smiles and reveals a slight dimple on his left cheek. “But you weren’t scared in that big bad place full of big bad men?”
I was. But... “No.”
“Liar, Molly. Filthy, dirty, nasty little liar. Your clit’s throbbing, isn’t it?”
The heat rises in me, and my clit is throbbing like it’s about to burst and release a flood of sweet, orgasmic endorphins.
There’s too much material between me and him, too much between me and the gun.
His lips feather up my throat and I’m rubbing up against him, the thick heat of want in me, the flames of desire licking up and short-circuiting my brain because all I can think of is the thing I spent so long trying to forget.
Him. All I want is another taste of him. I turn to Declan, and he’s right there. Deep, turbulent oceans of green locking on to me, his mouth now not even a whisper from mine.
“You want me.”
The word “no” wobbles in my head. But “yes” pounds hard in my blood.
“Have you joined the cartel?” His Irish accent strokes against me, his tone seductively sweet. “There are different branches, so you might need to be specific. Maybe I should strip-search you, Molly, and find your colors...”
His gun still strokes against me, harder, and I push down, the edge of pleasure starting to shine through the desire and need.
Declan wants to know why I was there. “My boyfriend—”
He bites my lower lip, sliding his tongue along it, and that touch is a flare so bright I shudder, swallowing the rest of my sentence.
I let the word “boyfriend” slip out. It’s not true.
Leon is just a friend, but Declan doesn’t need to know that.
A tiny part of me is still furious about how he led me on and then made a play for my friend right under my nose.
Maybe deep down I want him to think there’s someone else, that I haven’t pined for him for all this time.
“What about your boyfriend?” Declan asks in a low voice.
My stomach drops. “He’s helping me find Dad. He told me to meet him here.”
“The only people here are shooting at each other. Is he one of them?” Declan’s voice is flat. “Because if he told you to come here and never showed up, then that looks pretty fucking suspicious to me.”
I want to argue, but doubt creeps in like ice water. Leon was late. Leon told me to wait in the building. Alone. “He wouldn’t have put me in danger...”
But even I hear how weak that sounds.
A wave of ecstasy rolls through me. Declan’s mouth is back on my neck, his free hand pulling my sweatpants down. I lift my hips.
“You sure about that?” he asks softly, the gun running along my slit, the panties pulling on the wetness of my flesh, and I groan.
No. I’m not sure about anything right now. My mind is a mess of frenzied thoughts, my body clamoring for more of his devious torment. He removes the gun and slides his fingers into my panties, starts to stroke my wet flesh, fingers toying with my clit, dipping low to push into me.
I almost explode as I slide down on the seat, spreading as much as I can, giving him as much access as I can. His fingers dig into my hip as he slowly thrusts into me.
Oh, it’s good, so good. I’m a mass of nerve endings feeding off every touch and caress from him. He sucks on my throat, biting down, and I moan.
Thank goodness he’s not using the gun—
The gun.
Its weight is against my leg, and I scramble for it, even as he pulls out to stop me.
But I have it first.
He grabs my wrist, putting enough pressure on the skin, and I drop it.
“Really, Molly? You thought your magic little pussy would be enough to distract me?”
“You were touching me when I didn’t ask you to.” As excuses go, it’s lame.
“You’re the one who spread her legs.”
I glare at him. “You should have been in prison.”
“On some fake charges like assault?”
I slam my mouth shut. I need to get out of the car. I need to find Leon. What if he got hurt in that shootout? What if that’s why he wasn’t there? And—
“So I’ll ask again. Your boyfriend,” Declan says, not tucking his gun away, as he reaches over and clicks my seatbelt in place, “wouldn’t be one of the people in that shootout, would he?”
“No.” I hope not. But the truth is, I have no idea. “Why?”
“Because someone’s coming our way. Maybe he’s coming for you after all.” His eyes sweep over me as he turns back to the car’s ignition, sparking the wires again. “Stay down and out of sight.”
I eye the tops of my bare legs. “Half exposed like this?”
“Eye candy, Marlowe,” he says, his laugh sharp and cold. “A bit of something for me to look at before I die and go to heaven.”
“You’re going to hell.”
“More interesting, I’ll take it.”