Chapter 17 Declan #2
“Came to lend you a hand, but…” Seamus looks around the half-empty club as the bartender rises from behind the bar.
Seamus crouches by the corpse, finds a thick roll of cash.
The money that Con owed us. He sighs. “I’ll give it to the bratva boss.
But you sure did manage to do your Dec magic and fuck the rest nicely. ”
“I took care of business,” I snarl.
He hands the money to the bartender and orders two drinks. Fury rises sharp and hot in my throat. “He had it coming.”
Seamus passes me a glass and looks at me for a long minute. So long, I start to squirm. “You could’ve waited until we got him out of here,” he says evenly. He doesn’t say anything about me thinking I’d be handling this alone. He doesn’t have to.
He’s right. I should’ve tortured the bastard somewhere quieter. Found out what he knew about the bounty on Molly.
“He had it coming,” I repeat, less sure. “He said things about Marlowe.”
“Fuck, Dec—”
“Don’t.” I tip back the whiskey. It burns going down. “I don’t like her. But I’m supposed to protect her. That’s the job.”
Along with finding this Mario. The one O’Shay mentioned before he vanished, the name that keeps popping up in the little black book Molly handed us.
Or maybe Cal’s right. Maybe I should let Mario go and stick to tracking down her father. But every path I’ve followed has run me into a brick wall. Finding people isn’t my strong suit. That’s Roark’s domain, and he’s still coming up dry.
“You’re more disciplined when it’s about her,” Seamus says thoughtfully.
“Ah, shite,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t’ve killed him. He said some cartel bastard was offering more than the bounty, and he wanted to collect.”
There’s only one cartel-adjacent prick I can think of who might do that. I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. But would Leon do that?
“He’s not known for truth. Just self-preservation,” Seamus says. “Or, was, anyway.”
The Russian owner comes out and spits on Con’s corpse. “He lie all the time. Get rough with girls.”
I open my mouth to say something smart, but Seamus steps on my foot.
“Thanks, Dmitri.” Seamus hands the man more money. “Ava appreciates it. If you hear anything—”
“I let you know,” Dmitri says.
Seamus looks at me. “Drink up. I want to get home.”
Once we get home, my brothers and I strategize about clearing Molly’s name. We kick around plans for an hour, trying to figure out the best way to smother the rumors about her and eliminate the hit.
We didn’t have a blood wedding. Hell, we’re not even actually married. Once we walk away from this sham, the bounty resets to open season unless we handle things first.
For now, the Murphy name holds the worst of the wolves at bay. But fuckers like Con will always crawl out of whatever hole they live in, thinking they can cash in.
Unless I kill the rumor dead and get the hit rescinded, she stays on every thug’s list.
I made sure that she’d have a safe place to live after this is all over. Her apartment has been fixed up. Windows have been reinforced. Locks have been upgraded. And it’s been staged so that when she does move back in, she can decorate however she wants. Make it nice and comfortable and normal.
But that’s later. I don’t trust anyone—including her—enough to let her go there yet.
I shove that thought aside and flop on the sofa after leaving my brothers. Clawzilla immediately curls up on my lap. Arnold wedges himself against my leg.
“You two are mine in spirit,” I tell them.
Monarch appears with Petal rolling behind him in her little chariot. A screech pierces the air from Pepper’s room.
“Fuck! Zulus! Zulus everywhere. It’s some craic!”
“Ah, shite.” Torin appears in the doorway with his laptop in one hand. He rolls his eyes. “Someone been teaching that fucking bird new words? He’s not moving in, is he?”
I like Pepper. He’s chaos with feathers. Still, I shrug. “Only if we can’t find her da.”
Tor mutters something and steps carefully as Bruiser rolls under his foot. Lola streaking after him like she’s running her own hit. Fiona barks because, why not?
“Too many fucking animals, Dec,” Tor says, dropping into the armchair opposite me.
“You and your pretty wife should get some,” I say.
He raises a brow. “We’re not even sure on kids. Animals…more animals?”
He’d be a good da. Harry would be a brilliant mam. I’d have never thought he wanted kids before her, but the way he looks at her says the thought is in there. She’s wild for all little ones, too. They both want it. They’re just scared of fucking it up.
“Adoption’s a good start to a family, if that’s what you’re thinking, Tor,” I say.
He scowls. “I’m not.”
He so is.
“Animal adoption,” I clarify. “I’m not giving Monarch back. She, Fiona, the bird—they need extra loving. Good way to dip a toe in to the whole parenting pond.”
“If I want advice, I’ll read a book,” he mutters.
“I’m always right on these things,” I say. “They’re pets, not children. Or you can adopt a fish.”
Tor’s attention moves back to the laptop.
“I went over the files on that USB you got. Took a bit of time, but it’s damn clear the stalker guy was fucked up.
Obsessed. I didn’t find anything we can trace, though.
No addresses, no usable digital trail. I checked his place, but it was barely lived in.
Wherever his shrine is, it’s not there.”
I nod, cracking each one of my knuckles.
“Let’s talk about you,” he says. “You came back quiet earlier. Why?”
The glow from the screen turns his face ghost pale. Harry probably finds it sexy. Sociopath chic.
“Because I think we need a soft approach,” I say.
He glances up. “I’m listening. Just trying new angles on Molly’s mam. I’m fairly sure she knows where her da is. Or at least, she knows he’s safe and thinks she’s protecting him. For her own reasons.”
He says Molly like we’re already resigned to her being ours. He heard me earlier. Torin doesn’t miss much.
“You’re not looking for her da?” I ask.
“Figure Roark’s got that covered,” he says.
“If her mam knows where he is, why pretend?” I press.
“To protect the conglomerate,” he says. “It’s worth billions. On paper, so are they. And liquid? It’s still millions. A nasty bastard could try to blackmail her.”
“Like her offering to marry Molly off to Milo Marcello?” I ask.
“No idea what her buried secrets look like yet.”
I sit forward, earning a hiss from Clawzilla and a whine from Arnold. “Got anything on her?”
“Nothing properly criminal,” Torin says.
“She’s just a poor girl who used her brain.
Cold from the start, from what I can tell.
She could’ve married other rich lads or even mafia.
She chose Heston. Love? Opportunity? No prenup.
What’s his is hers, hers his. Great deal for a poor ambitious girl.
Now? He’s an albatross. She can’t divorce him. ”
“But could she kill him?” I ask.
He lowers the laptop lid a fraction. “Anyone could. But I don’t know if it’d be worth it. With him just remaining unseen, she holds everything. Dead, she loses half to her daughter.”
“So she wouldn’t kill him…”
“Didn’t say that,” Torin says. “I’d just rule her out for now. She’s not evil. Just ice cold. But I’ve been wrong before.”
“We all have,” I mutter.
I file it away next to the fake cop, the missing ID, the dead PI, and a dozen other unanswered questions.
“We have too many fucking questions and no answers,” I say.
“No,” Torin corrects. “Not what Roark just told me. He should be here…”
The doorbell rings.
“Speak of the fucking devil,” Tor says.
He goes to let our cousin in.
Roark doesn’t sit. He stands in the middle of the room and takes everything in. He rubs a ringed hand over his face. “Heard y’killed that bag of dicks, Con,” he says. “If you’re taking his buildings, I’ll buy in. Could use another investment property.”
“I thought the body was a lowlife PI slash gun for hire,” I say. “Is that right?”
He nods, then lifts the bag in his hand. “Whiskey?”
I raise a hand even though I don’t really want any. He moves like a well-trained Lola—smooth, sneaky, utterly at home. He finds the glasses without asking and lines up five.
“Make that six,” Ava says, sauntering in wearing a red dress that could cause accidents.
Seamus isn’t far behind, and Cal comes in from his side of the house. Murphy council called to order by the siren song of whiskey and big fucking problems.
Roark pours. His gaze lingers a bit too long on Ava. He winks at Seamus, whose eyes narrow to slits. Business as usual.
He passes the drinks around. “Got some leads on your dancing queen’s da,” he says.
I nearly shoot off the sofa. Only Clawzilla’s claws in my thighs keep me grounded. “Which are?”
“Still in motion,” Roark says in that tone that tells me he’s protecting paying clients as well as family.
It pisses me off. “We found another body in a shallow grave. Definitely a cop. Or it was. He left the force before someone put him in the ground. Don’t know if it’s connected yet.
But he matches an ex-cop Torin found, out of Chicago. ”
“And?” I push.
“And he had something on him about Mario,” Roark says. “Plane ticket booking number for a Mark Brown, and…”
Wait. Mark Brown. Mario. Is it a fake name? My brain starts chugging.
“Sounds like he was helping this Mario guy, not running some solo sting,” I say. “Is Mario Mark?”
“I can’t say,” Roark replies, meeting my gaze.
Which is as close to a yes as I’ll get. I already know he needs to be evasive for his business purposes but it’s fucking annoying to not get a straight answer out of him.
“Mark never made the flight. And there’s another photo of your ballerina that puts her at the crime scene. I think we could use it.”
“How?” Cal asks.
“We need to be smart,” Ava says, wrapping herself around Seamus. “Maybe we can—”
“No,” I cut in, setting Clawzilla gently aside so I don’t shred my own lap. “I already know how we turn this.”
“How?” Tor asks, watching me carefully. From the little curl of Roark’s mouth, he’s already half-guessed.
They’re all worried I’ll get myself killed. Do something drastic. Maybe Ava believes that slightly less than the rest.
“Smuggle her away?” Ava suggests.
Fuck. Never thought of that. But I shut it down fast. I can’t protect her if she’s outside our net.
“I’ve got a plan,” I say. “A housewarming party and belated wedding reception.”
I drain my drink. My pocket buzzes. I pull out Marlowe’s phone.
Leon. Fucking again.
My fingers tighten around the device. Tor’s still working the bigger picture: Mario, the cops, the cartel. My petty, private jealousy can wait.
For a minute.
I leave them to it and stomp up the stairs, sidetracked by Leon’s call. I don’t knock. I never do with her. I just open the door to find my dirty exhibitionist with the danger kink.
Of course it’s not locked.
My heart thumps hard, blood rushing south at the sight of her curled on the bed in an oversized t-shirt, book in hand. She puts it down. Lust and hate tangle in her gaze, and my cock jerks in response.
“Leon called again,” I say. Maybe I should have him properly looked into, but he hasn’t actually hurt Molly. Yet. I still don’t like him. I don’t trust him. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use him. “Invite him.”
She frowns. “To what?”
The door’s wide open. I step inside, push her back on the bed, part her thighs, and nudge her panties aside to slide my fingers into her. Her gaze flicks to the open doorway, and she lets out a low, desperate sound.
Fuck, she’s hot with her weird little kink.
I bring her right up to the edge, the panting and the way her body arches telling me exactly where she is.
“Molly girl, you’re fucking hot,” I say, pulling my fingers free and shoving them into her mouth. “Suck.”
Anger flashes in her eyes, but she does as she’s told, tongue working my fingers like they’re my cock. I make a quiet promise to myself to let her spend a long, slow time worshipping the real thing next round.
“You asked me a question,” I remind her, pulling my fingers from her mouth and dragging a wet line down her throat to the neckline of her shirt. “I owe you an answer.”
I step back, my pants too tight, my brain even tighter.
“We’re having a housewarming and belated wedding reception,” I say. “Invite Leon if you want.”
Suspicion sharpens her features. “What are you up to?”
I move to the doorway, already half gone, pulse beating hard with the shape of the plan forming in my head.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, Molly,” I say, glancing back at her, spread out, flushed, eyes glassy and confused, “I insist you invite him.”
Because if Leon’s the wolf at her door, I want him walking through mine—with every Murphy gun pointed right at his heart.