Chapter 20 Marlowe
TWENTY
marlowe
Panic and desire slam through me so hard I can’t tell where one ends and the other starts. My heart punches my ribs, my thighs are slick, and my brain is static.
“Dec?”
It’s one of his brothers, a casual voice drifting down the alley like this is just another Tuesday.
“One of the gobshite guards thought you were an intruder.” There’s a pause, and all I can think about is the hard weight of Declan’s body on mine, his thick erection pressed exactly where I need it. “That is you, right, Dec? With your wife?”
“I really want to fuck you,” Declan murmurs against my ear, teeth catching my lobe as he deliberately grinds into me, making sure I feel every inch. Then, louder, “Aye, it’s me and the lass, Seamus. Call off the fucking dogs.”
There’s too much cheer in his voice, too much lightness for a man who just almost got shot. I don’t know if he’s genuinely unworried or if he’s wrapping his tone in sugar so I don’t realize exactly how scared I should be.
He kisses me again before I can process the thought. It’s slow. Deep. Possessive. His tongue slides against mine, coaxing, tasting. My fingers find their own way between us, wrapping around his cock and stroking like a woman who’s lost her damn mind.
He bites my bottom lip, and at the same time shoves two fingers inside me, pumping with that ruthless rhythm, his thumb grinding my clit.
Classic Declan move. Weaponized pleasure.
It’s obscene how quickly my body answers him, the heat, hunger, and tight edge where everything in me wants to snap and break apart.
I want to come. I want to wrap my legs around him and ride him right here, in the open, where whoever fired the bullet can choke on the sight of us.
He pulls out instead, his forehead dropping to mine.
“Sorry, Molly,” he breathes. “But this isn’t safe.”
Exactly the way I like it. My God, I have issues.
I bite back the words and a pathetic whimper still escapes my lips.
“Yeah, you’re into it,” he says, hearing what I don’t say, “but we need to move.”
He hauls me up and walks us back toward the light where Seamus waits.
“The party’s over,” Seamus says, all business. “We’re heading home. I’ll check out the area. Someone was seen hanging around. Get everyone ready.”
“Who made you boss?” Declan shoots back.
But he’s already threading his fingers through mine and pulling me back toward the building.
Inside, the illusion of “normal” snaps back into place so fast I almost get whiplash.
Lucie takes charge without even trying. She asks for my help with the kids, Harry backs us both up, and Declan gets volunteered for dog duty. It turns into controlled chaos…sleepy kids, overexcited dogs, too many Murphys in one space, and me in the middle of all of it.
We walk out, and I don’t think there’s a single second where I’m not flanked by armed men. It should feel like a prison. It doesn’t. It actually feels…protective.
It’s only when we’re back at the brownstone, stepping into those warm, lived-in halls full of noise and love and a zoo full of animals that I realize Declan and his brothers are gone.
Harry and Lucie disappear upstairs with the kids. Tallulah is asleep in Lucie’s arms while Harry wrangles a grumpy Raff. Lola slinks after them, clearly intent on keeping an eye on his tiny human nemesis.
I drift into the living room like a stray. My fingers trail over books, the soft, worn leather of chairs, all the little details that say family in ways money never can.
“Whiskey?” someone asks behind me.
“Yeah, thanks.” Then I turn and narrow my eyes at Ava. “Are you the spy sent to keep me here?”
Ava lifts a bottle and grabs glasses from the coffee table, completely ignoring my question.
“Since my nanny is still on duty, I’m the in-house protection until they get back,” she says. “With or without a head.”
“A what?” Blood rushes between my temples, a weird mix of horror and excitement grabbing hold. Something is deeply wrong with me, because a very small, unhinged part of me likes the idea of them bringing back a head on a plate.
Declan’s already killed for me. And, much as I hate to admit it, part of me finds that…hot.
Is this sick and twisted fantasy of danger and sex and blood poisoning me?
“An actual head?” I manage to squeak out.
“They haven’t so far. But if someone was skulking around the party and aiming at you and Dec, they just might.” She smiles. “The Murphys are charming, deadly savages.”
It’s the perfect description of Declan—if you add wrapped in deceptive softness that feels sweet until you realize it’s pure alley-cat Lola underneath.
I take the glass and knock the whiskey back. I usually sip, if I drink at all. Which I normally didn’t. My body used to be my temple. Carefully curated, fiercely protected.
The burn sears all the way down. And I like it.
Clawzilla winds around my legs, and Arnold lifts his head from the giant dog bed like he’s checking in. Fiona and Monarch are curled up there too.
Arnold doesn’t seem bothered by the crowd. He doesn’t seem bothered by anything. Arnold, I’m convinced, is secretly in charge.
“And you like that?” I ask Ava. “The heads. The savagery.”
“I’m cut from the same cloth,” she says.
She sinks onto the sofa and grabs an iPad.
“I’m not,” I say.
“You don’t have to be the same,” she replies. “You just have to be something that works.”
“We’re going our separate ways when this is over,” I say. “Declan and me. So we don’t need to work.”
“Not really my business,” she says, like it is but she’s choosing to stay out of it. “They’ll be back when they’re back. You should probably go up to bed.”
“What about the dogs?” I look at the pile of snoring bodies. “Should I take them out?”
The dogs don’t even twitch at the word out. Traitors.
“Dec will handle it,” Ava says. “He’s a good guy. The animals all adore him. Even mine.”
Her no is silent but absolute. After tonight…the bullet, Leon’s news, the way I shoved Declan right as the shot cracked through the air…I’m fine with staying put. I shudder. If I hadn’t pushed him out of the way, that bullet would’ve hit one of us.
I pretend that doesn’t terrify me.
“Your animals?” I ask instead.
She nods. “Bruiser and Petal are mine and Seamus’s. Arnold and Clawzilla are technically Cal and Lucie’s. And then there are yours. Yet every single one of them acts like Dec is their person when he walks in. Sometimes it’s nauseating.”
“No, it isn’t.” The words come out sharper than I mean. “Animals are good judges of people.”
“At least you’ll be gone soon,” Ava says calmly. “Like you want. With your menagerie. And they’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure they will.” I swallow. “And just so you know, I don’t like Declan. He annoys me, he’s a cheater, he—”
“A cheater?” Her brows shoot up. “He’s an outrageous flirt, I’ll give you that. But I don’t see him as the cheating kind. Their mother wouldn’t have allowed it. Anyway, I thought you said animals were good judges of character.”
I glare at her and refill my glass. The second whiskey slides down easier than it should.
“He isn’t dating the animals,” I mutter. “He’s just good with them.”
“He’s good with you and you’re not dating him,” she says.
“Not,” I say, “in a million years.”
Also, did she just compare me to the pets?
“Well, he’s a Murphy. They’re loyal. But since you don’t like him and you’re not dating him, whether he cheats or not isn’t really your problem, is it?”
I open my mouth to snap back…and close it again. I drain the rest of my drink and put the glass down harder than necessary.
“I’m going to bed,” I say before stomping upstairs like a sulky teenager.
It hits me halfway up the staircase that she totally played me. I just don’t know why.
Amusement? Curiosity? A test?
Ava isn’t open and warm like Lucie. She isn’t quiet and contemplative like Harriet. She feels like…something else. A former outsider talking to a current one. Someone who knows what it’s like to stand at the edge of a family and wonder if you’ll ever really be on the inside.
“Like I care,” I mutter.
I strip out of my clothes, stand under the hot shower for longer than I need to, and let the water beat down until my skin prickles.
I towel off and put on a clean, oversized t-shirt. And then I stand in the center of my room, not knowing what to do with myself.
Leon’s gift of delicate silver coasters sits on my dresser. His news buzzes in my veins. He’s found a way out of the life he’s wanted to escape. A path to freedom.
I want him to take it. I need him to.
That’s why I told him Declan was helping me find my father. Why I told him if he needed to leave, he should. Maybe it makes me a shitty friend, turning down his help.
But if I had a door that led out of this madness, I’d run through it barefoot over hot goddamn coals.
I sigh and pick up the book I started and read the same line five times. I drop it on the bed, a deep sigh slipping through my lips.
The itch under my skin spreads. It has nothing to do with Leon and everything to do with Declan Murphy and his infuriating hands, and his even more infuriating mouth.
I wander to the closet and open it. The clothes he bought me are hung up neatly.
They’re stunning. All my style with that soft, romantic, slightly dramatic edge.
The shoes are all sensible, nothing with too high a heel except for one pair of hot pink strappy sandals that are pure slut in footwear form.
My heart kicks faster as I open the lingerie drawer. Everything is pretty, feminine, and filthy. I dig around and find the pieces we bought from the sex shop. Crotchless panties. A bra designed specifically to show nipples rather than cover them.
I’m too much of a coward to put on the full cut-out outfit, so I pick the soft netted panties that feel like a whisper against my skin, and the balconette bra that lifts my breasts and leaves the tops bare.
Then I add the fishnet stockings and strap on the slutty hot pink heels.
A smile tugs at my lips as I gaze at myself in the mirror.