Chapter 20 Ava
TWENTY
ava
I clutch Seamus’s hand tight. I’m nervous. I don’t know why.
But the man I’m married to is cool as a cucumber on ice.
The second who’s the interim Pakhan isn’t anyone I recognize, but Dad’s second-in-command retired when my uncle stepped in. The man speaks Russian and looks straight at Seamus as he does so.
To unnerve.
“All he’s saying is you’re the man I married,” I mutter.
“It’s okay, sweet thing. I know what he’s saying, and it has nothing to do with words.” There’s a deadly note to his voice as we move farther into the private club, the floor full of men and young, scantily clad women.
It shouldn’t bother me. I don’t see any ownership tattoos on their bare flesh, and they move like they belong, looking at me like I’m an outsider. I lift my chin, trying to work out who to speak to first.
I want to be Pakhan, but in this very moment, I have no idea how to be that leader. To instantly command.
“Come on, sweet thing, let’s get a drink.” He leads me to the bar, past his brother Callahan, who’s standing quietly against the wall with a cigarette in one hand as he stares down anyone who dares to approach.
It’s not until his other brother, Declan, comes over to give him a drink that his mask shifts.
No, it’s not a mask, he’s just… observing, and the endless cool reminds me of Seamus in a way, but Seamus has more of a wild, feral streak that pulls me down into him.
But I could still picture the two of them standing there, watching while the other brothers take up their roles, Torin not being seen until he chooses to, and the weapon of amiability from Declan drawing people into saying too much.
They must be a deadly force when they work against someone.
And I really thought I could take them all on?
I’m no fan of them, though, and then there’s Seamus, dressed in enemy garb no one else can see but me, and I decide I might need to be very careful indeed.
But the thought of harming his brothers doesn’t sit right with me now.
Seamus, on the other hand…
“Can you stop thinking about my demise and take your drink?”
He shoves a drink into my free hand, and I realize with horror I’m still holding his other one.
I try to pull away, but he just draws me in and feathers a kiss on my lips that has me melting. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
I glare. “Only because you’re so unlikeable.”
“And there she is, my little murderous wife. Just remember, I owe you.”
“What?”
He leans in. “Since I can’t actually kill you, I’ll extract revenge in other ways.” He kisses me once more. “See, not so nervous anymore, right?”
“I just… why are we having this gathering at this club and not at the mansion?”
“Who the fuck knows.” He looks around. “Intimidation, I suppose. This club’s used by all kinds of organized crime groups. But usually, it’s the top dogs. None of the smaller families tend to get invited into the membership circle. Unless they’re rich. Powerful.”
Romanov. Did he organize this? I don’t see him, but… I snap my attention to Seamus because there’s no one else to check out. “So how do you know about it?”
“The Murphy organization is small, but we’re rich and powerful. Not to mention to die for hot and charming.” Then he takes my hand again. “Come with me.”
He drags me off, and various clusters of people, as well as a group of men who have impressive mustaches, eye me like meat.
I think I imagine a growl coming from Seamus as he takes me from the opulent and tasteful club room down a hall and through a door. It takes me a few moments to realize where we are.
“Do you have a thing about bathrooms?”
He closes the door as he releases me and leans against it. “I thought you did. But for someone I don’t like very much, I find myself needing to take you into any empty room I can find.”
I swallow hard, unsure how to answer. “I’m not having sex with you in here. I can’t. We can’t. We need to—”
“Shut up.”
He moves fast, coming at me and grabbing me by the throat and I land against a soft wall that I swear to God is covered in velvet. He thumbs up my chin and presses his hard body against mine.
“Sometimes, sweet thing, you drive me crazy in the wrong way.”
He stares into my eyes and I’m lost, mesmerized. I can’t look away, even if I wanted to. He won’t let me.
“I shouldn’t even be attracted to you, no matter how fucking drop-dead gorgeous you are, no matter how fucking skilled. You’re cold, greedy, and hard. Your walls have walls. I’m not sure you care about anything or anyone other than yourself and yet I’d willingly drop to the ground and worship you.”
His eyes burn a hole into my soul and my knees buckle as he moves in closer, his hands grazing the sides of my throat.
“You’re exactly the kind of creature who was born to rule.
You have that. Those men were born into it and didn’t have to try.
But you? Fuck, Ava, you turned down money, a husband, protection from Romanov who might have plans to take over your little bratva.
It’s that important to a lot of groups. And you want to know how I know?
” he asks in that same matter-of-fact voice.
“Because when you told me who your bratva was, I wanted it, too. An in. I can see the possibilities it has. The room to grow, to be something bigger than the sum of its parts. And the people out there see the potential I do.”
“You want to take my bratva?” I push out the words because they’re the only ones I trust myself with.
Everything else is too big.
“I’m not an idiot; of course, I do. It’s got possibility beyond what it does. And you know it. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you didn’t give up, and you didn’t go and give it to Romanov in exchange for a cushy life.”
I tilt my head. “You’re not a cushy life?”
“Sweet thing, I’m a life of bad decisions and roller coasters and impossible highs. This isn’t about me. It’s you. Ava, I’m telling you I like you about as much as you like me, but out there? I’m your number one fan. You’re tough as fucking nails. Are you sure you’re not Irish?”
He lets go of my throat, pulls me against him, and says, “Look at you, you’re dressed to fucking kill in this dress. You look like a modern-day empress.”
And he looks like my emperor.
I swallow those words down before they can hit air.
The black dress with embroidered crystals clings to me, down to the asymmetrical hem that goes from just below my knee to my ankle. The top part plunges to show off cleavage, and the straps are black leather.
I put my hair up, pinning it with some black metal combs I could probably harm someone with, combs I found with the dress and the shoes on the bed after working out in the gym on Seamus’s floor of the brownstone.
He picked them out.
Bought them.
And with him in a black suit, black shirt and tie, black rings on his fingers, he’s dark perfection. I breathe in that scent of his, letting it infuse me down into my bones.
Seamus slides up the skirt and exposes my lace panties to the floor-length mirror we’re in front of.
Then he pushes his other hand into my panties and his movements in the reflection, the exquisite sensations that race through me like crazed butterflies, are impossibly enhanced by not seeing anything other than his hand moving under the fabric.
He strokes my clit, sliding a finger into me, thrusting and stroking like he’s stoking a fire.
And he really is. I start to pant, the world teetering as I get wetter and slicker, and the need to come overtakes everything.
Then he stops and a small cry escapes me. “That feeling of power trapped, of things unfulfilled. You know later it will be. So use it when we go back out there.”
Seamus lets me go and I spin around, letting my skirt fall into place. I’m a thousand sparking nerve ends. I’m on that edge, rocking there, hovering over the brink. And as I glare at him, he just grins, sucks his fingers, and licks his palm.
The look of need on his face feeds my fire, and I can’t help it. I throw myself at him and kiss him. He staggers, arms coming around me as he kisses me back. Our tongues tangle for long, wild moments. When I pull back, he wipes his thumb along the sides of my bottom lip.
“Lipstick.”
“Seamus…” I falter. Things push to be said, things I can’t find words for. Things I barely understand.
“When we go out there, remember this… If you won’t let me intimidate you, no one else can even come close.
Here’s the deal. We’ll make rounds, talk to the second, Yakob, I think his name is, then we’ll set up a time to go to the office.
We’ll search when we can for that safe. And then we’ll go.
After all, we’re newlyweds, and I want to finish what we just started. ”
He opens the door and we return to the club.
The evening goes by quickly, the small talk is small, sometimes snide, and every time I’m hit with a mocking word, Seamus is there, in my head, telling me exactly how strong I am.
I know it’s kind of pathetic, being bolstered by my enemy in lust, but I’ll take it. Most don’t say a meanly veiled word to me, though, because I’m guessing the Murphy reputation is already known, and all it takes is one look from him and they pull back, preferring to talk money, women, and power.
I’m the untried. And it starts to work into my veins, that untapped power. The idea of me as something they don’t know yet, something they’re unsure of, is something I like.
“We’re leaving in a few,” Seamus says to me. “Get a drink, smile, and try not to kill anyone. This place charges for cleanup crews like you wouldn’t believe.”
He’s talking to me, but he has his eyes on someone talking to his brother Declan across the room.
“Give me a minute. Get that drink. Whiskey.”
“For me or you?” I ask, but he’s gone.
I shake my head and head to the bar to get the drink, and two men, one Italian and the other with a strong Southern accent stand in my way. I suppose I could go around them, but they’re aware of me.
“Excuse me,” I say.
One of them laughs and they spread out.
“I said excuse me.”