Chapter 12 #2
“You hate me. Fucking fine by me, Ava. Hate away. But what I don’t get is why me? We’ve got the chemistry that comes from acute dislike, and the sex is good, but you’re a gorgeous woman. You could rope any idiot into marriage. Why me?”
Fuck. “Because someone broke in and wrecked my place, stole, slashed my things, and—”
“Any idea who?”
I swallow. “I thought it might be Iosif, but he said no.”
“Because he always tells the fucking truth, right?” Seamus holds up his free hand. “No, don’t answer that. I asked why me. Anyone out there in our world will protect you for a price, and you’re worth a lot—especially now.”
A frisson of shock hits. He means me. How I look. The sex.
“I was in a hurry.”
“Bullshit. You’ll fucking tell me because I have power, I can protect you, I can step in and help you with the bratva, or I can fucking destroy you. Why me?”
I can’t tell him because I want him dead, that if I had my way I’d rip my own libido out and then stab him. I’d shoot him with his own gun. “Because the Murphys, even if I don’t like you, even if I hate you, are known to be fair. I don’t want the bratva ripped from me.”
“Who says I won’t?”
The fact that I’ll kill him when it’s done. “The prenup.”
“So why do you hate me? What the fuck did I do?”
I stand up, my head spinning, chest so tight it feels like it’ll explode. “Because you killed my cousin and you don’t even remember his name!”
He stares at me, and a ringing starts in my ears. I didn’t mean to say that.
The words slipped out. They’re out there now.
He looks at me like I’ve just morphed into an alien.
Seamus stands, too.
“I kill a lot of people, Ava,” he says. “I don’t keep a black book of dates and names.”
“You’re a fucking bastard, Seamus. A vile bastard who just kills because he can. A brute who lacks a conscience—”
“And one you like to fuck.”
I close my eyes. Then I open them, looking at him. “You’re right. I don’t just hate you. I despise you.”
“Were you close?”
“No.” The word’s bitter and it’s hard to swallow.
Seamus sets his drink down and walks toward me. “So were you and Paddy closer, then?”
He pushes me against the wall and slides his hand up between my thighs, stroking my pussy. How the fuck does he know about Paddy? Is he just playing with me to see if I’ll react?
“No,” I choke out.
The smile’s grim. “But you knew him. He’s dead, you know. Also by my hand.”
A small moan breaks free as he pushes two fingers into me, his face coming in close, lips feathering mine.
And then he moves his mouth to my ear. “You’re a fucking greedy little creature. This is all about your bratva, what’s yours, and fuck everything else. You don’t hate me for the death of your cousin. It’s all about your bratva.”
Fury bursts like bubbles in my veins. “He was going to hand it over to me, and you killed him in a bar fight.”
Seamus strokes into me, hooking his fingers, making it almost impossible to concentrate. “I haven’t been in a fucking bar fight since I was a kid in Ireland. I’ve taken people out in bars. Very different. What bar?”
“The Kelly.”
“The Bronx. Irish.” He nods, almost to himself. “Good darts league, so I hear. Never fucking been.”
Now he moves his thumb to my clit.
I gasp. “Lies.”
He slams his free hand near my head. And looks at me, nose to nose. “In what world would I lie? I’d own it, sweet thing, and I think you know that. It’s your excuse to hate, isn’t it?”
“No—” I gasp, a spasm hitting, and he backs down, slowing the thrusts, thumb moving off my clit.
“You believe me. And in your little black heart you’ve never quite known. Just worked yourself up to hate us. The Irish newcomers, am I right?”
“No.”
“Yes. Because if you cared about this cousin, if you believed down deep for sure it was me, you’d have taken me out before we met the night of the bombing, or at least tried. You’re too violent not to. But I don’t do bar fights. Ever.”
My mind’s fragmenting as he starts to build me back to almost orgasm, and while I think I did believe Paddy when he told me who killed Stan, the fact he pointed to a photo of the wrong brother and called him Seamus means he didn’t care which one got the blame.
He wanted to take them out and told me he’d help me get that revenge.
Did Paddy have an ulterior motive?
And does it even matter now?
Stan’s death stole my future, and now I have a chance to scrape it back. Even if it’s with a man I can’t stand.
“Paddy…” I trail off, not sure what to say, and a wave of delight passes over me that has everything to do with what Seamus is doing.
“Paddy was a shite. He had a vendetta and you fell for it because of your greed. Did he claim he witnessed it? Showed you a picture of Torin? Decided he was me? See, now I don’t like you. In fact, it’s probably hate. I’ve nothing but disdain for you, Ava.”
“Let me go.” But there’s no conviction in my words.
He starts to pull free, and I whimper as I stop him.
Seamus smiles and it’s utterly deadly.
He didn’t kill Stan. So maybe—
“Here’s the thing,” he murmurs, pushing me toward that shining orgasm, “I’m going to let you have your bratva—over my dead body.”
“And I’ll take you fucking down,” I say, panting.
“Bring it the fuck on, sweet thing.”
And then he kisses me, and he strokes over my clit again, fucking me with his fingers like the devil that he is, and I come.
Again.