Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
seamus
I like rings. I wear them often and today, a few days into my glorious—heavy on the sarcasm—marriage, my bride’s standing next to me while Ishmael, the jeweler, pulls out a few for her to try on.
Today, I’m not picking something fitting for my taste.
Or Ava’s, either, if the look on her face has anything to do with it. And I’m loving every second of her discomfort. Her expression darkens as I pick out wedding rings and the ugliest, flashiest engagement ring I can find.
The jeweler looks at me, doubt on his face. “Are you sure?”
“It’s totally her.” I take her hand and hold it out and slip the engagement ring on. “See? Big, ostentatious, and black, like her heart.”
Before his shock fully blooms, I wink and smile.
I have no doubt he’s probably thinking that my bride lacks taste.
Or that I’ve lost my mind. I’ve bought rings from him in the past. And he knows I like black and silver, heavy but with minimal embellishments.
A twist of the metal into something interesting, but no stones or skulls or anything idiotic.
Apart from this.
“What do you think, sweet thing?”
“I think,” she manages as she gazes at the garish thing next to her wedding band that’s a simple black and platinum band to match mine, “that it’s the kind of taste I’ve come to expect from you, Seamus. One of the reasons why I married you.”
“She says the sweetest things.”
Ish just scratches his beard and shakes his head. “I’ve also got something Callahan ordered. Hold on.”
As he walks away, I let her go and she takes a big step back, turning her back to look at the display case nearest her. The aesthetic in here is modern and minimalist, but Ish still caters to those with dubious taste who come to his Tribeca store.
I really don’t care what she thinks of her engagement ring. It does the job. It announces she’s mine.
But as she glances down and rubs the giant square-cut black diamond set in platinum, I’m a little shocked she isn’t into it. The thing’s big and expensive, and she can sell it once we’re done. If she’s still breathing, that is.
Even with her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders in that sexy way that it does, Ava looks ridiculous in Skechers shoes, faded jeans that end at her ankles, and a white t-shirt with Iggy Pop on it.
I’m going to have to get her clothes, too.
But she’s not getting my credit card. I’ll buy them for her, clothes of my choosing and my decision about when they’re delivered. I’ll humiliate her with a fashion show. Make her strip bare, then crawl to me and suck my cock.
Our wedding night confessions play in my head.
Fucking Paddy, that Russian cunt from Ireland, can still wreak havoc from beyond the grave.
He must have had plans for her and her bratva. I’m thinking he befriended the cousin, and she somehow got involved.
Watching Ava as she turns to the next case and stops, gazing down at a devastatingly gorgeous, deceptively plain and small pink diamond engagement ring, one I can instantly see her wearing as if it was made to be part of her, something in me twists.
Yeah.
Disbelief.
Because I can see it. Paddy reading her avarice. Her greed for her bratva. And maybe together, they manipulated her cousin.
Or maybe she was lonely.
Who the fuck cares?
Paddy was an opportunist.
What’s clear to me is Paddy saw the chance to get his hands on a small bratva with the cousin, and then when he met Ava, he probably thought he could get it by marrying her.
And then I killed him.
I should kill her, too.
The jeweler comes back in and hands me the small bag for Callahan. Another gift for his Lucie.
“Thanks, Ish.” I hand him a wad of cash and head out the door, letting Ava follow. I should play the part of loving husband, but I can’t be bothered. Time enough for that later.
“This ring,” she snaps, “is vile. I should have known you lack taste.”
I look her over. “Me? Look at you. Dressed like a fucking ragamuffin.”
“Like I told you, someone broke in and wrecked most of my clothes. I wasn’t making that up, ya know,” she pushes out. “They stole from me. What you see, Seamus, is what you get. The few outfits I have. Unless, of course, I can go to work and make some money to buy new clothes.”
“Where, on the street corner?”
She snorts and crosses her arms, bringing my immediate attention to her tits. “I have a job.”
“And I asked which street corner.”
“You know, I’m shocked no one’s killed you yet.”
I glare back. “Hey, you tried, right? Besides, same to you, sweet thing. Your personality’s something.”
“I’m not wearing this horrible thing.” Ava starts to tug at the ring, but I take her hand, stopping her.
“You’ll wear it and pretend you love it. A black diamond. I thought it’d be up your alley.”
“Pity I have nothing to wear it with.”
A soft groan rises in me along with my cock. “Now that’s tempting. You naked and wearing my rings. I’ll pencil you in for later tonight. Naked, Ava. Rings. Maybe some high heels.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Then I’ll buy you some.” I might have peeked at her sizing. From her feet up. “How about I get you an appropriate wardrobe?”
“I don’t want a wardrobe from you. I don’t want anything from you.”
“You prefer naked, then.”
She snatches her hand away. “I hate the ring, and I hate you.”
“Good,” I say. “The ring can reflect to the world your hatred of me.”
“It’s ugly.”
Ava won’t let that go, and I’ll admit the piece is on the wrong side of taste.
“Like the empty demon inside of you?” I throw open the door to the car and tap the roof with a hand. “Can you get the fuck in?”
“I want…”
“I don’t care what you want,” I snap. “I have things to do today and you’ve got a room to sit and sulk in. We’ll see your lawyer soon. Happy fucking days.”
“I’m not your prisoner. I have a job. As a waitress.”
“Maybe you should have made better life choices. And no fake wife of mine, whom I can’t fucking stand by the way, is working as a waitress.”
“Snob.”
“No, there’s nothing wrong with honest work. I just don’t trust you skulking off somewhere. Or is waitress code for lover?”
“Do you care?”
The thing is, I do. She’s just lucky I don’t think she has one.
Or else she’d be hating me more for his impending nasty, messy demise.
“No. But since someone threatened you by breaking into your apartment, and you got caught in that little murder spree in the park which I’m pretty sure you were targeted in, you no longer have a job. ”
“So, what? I hang out with you all the time?” She wrinkles her nose, horror seeping into her hard expression.
“Fuck no. You stay home. I do have work, and I really don’t want to spend more time with you dressed than necessary.
” I want to work on my motorcycle, something I don’t get a chance to ride much.
I want to just lose myself in something that isn’t her.
“So you stay home, out of my way, and maybe I’ll have a room ready for you to spend your days in.
Nights are mine. Naked and wearing only my rings. ”
“You’re a fucking bastard. I think you’re jealous of Paddy.”
I take hold of her face. “And you’re walking on thin ice. This hate? It goes two ways. I can take you thinking I killed your dreams… sorry, your cousin. But I can’t deal with the fact you and Paddy…”
I shudder.
Her eyes flash pure ire. “He never touched me.”
“So you touched him,” I say, my voice deadly calm because it’s either that or lose my shit. “I don’t care about the details of your sex life with him.”
Once more, I do. Very much. The sensation in me is both hot and cold and it bites. It has claws and I just want to bring Paddy back so I can kill him again for touching her.
“Are you jealous?”
I laugh. “Of what?”
“Piotyr.”
“A dead man.” I slide my hand around her throat and squeeze, and the hate turns into flames of lust. I lean into her and bite her lip, hard, then I kiss her without warning, like I want to punish, like I need her life essence.
Like I need her.
Which I fucking don’t.
“And,” I say, lifting my head, tightening my hold, “I’ll kill you, too, if you so much as look at another man.”
She glares. “Reasonable.”
“I thought so.” This time, I take her mouth in a slow, sensual kiss, and her tongue is ready to dance with mine.
It’s heady, and every part of me is drowning in the essence of the caress, but she’s the one dragging me down with her because the deeper the kiss, the hungrier and more compliant she is.
Almost like giving in and opening the doors.
I break the kiss. “I just could never stand Piotyr. He was a bully, a coward, and a nasty piece of work who could play games. Tell me, were you seduced by him?”
Ava doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns and gets into the car. And I slam the door after her. I think it’s best to ride up front with Mikey, who wisely doesn’t say a word.
“Cal—” The words die on my lips.
The living room off the foyer is a haze of smoke. Callahan’s Carrolls and cigars.
Dec’s in there, standing by the window. He shoots me a look, one that’s bursting with things he’s unable to say.
I take a step inside and come to a physical stop, Ava slamming right into my back.
“Romanov,” I say. “Here to offer your congratulations?”
“Fuck,” Ava says, barely a whisper as her fingers latch on to my suit jacket.
I have to say, I’m a little shocked that she grabs at me. Shocked and…
And her touch sends a wave of heat through me. Nothing more. Just a chemical reaction.
I glance at Callahan, who’s sprawled in the armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hand as the salt-and-pepper-haired Romanov sits on the sofa, cigar in one hand, vodka in the other. And he turns, taking us both in.
Pleased is not a word I’d use. Neither is warm.
“Ava,” he says, eyeing her as she comes to stand next to me. His gaze plummets to the ring. “Murphy.”
He probably only knows Cal’s name. “Seamus,” I say with that careless tone I use to cover anything and everything. “Or Mr. Murphy. Either one. Iosif.”