Chapter 20 Ava #2
“Move to another part of the bar, darlin’,” the Southerner says. “Or better yet, get one of the old men you probably go down on to buy one for you.”
“What are you implying?” I ask.
“She’s slow. But pretty,” the Southerner says as his Italian friend laughs. “I bet she’ll fuck you for twenty.”
“You do know who I am,” I ask, trying not to seethe, “don’t you?”
“A nepo baby who fucked and sucked her way to the top?” the Italian asks as he leans back on the bar. “Yeah, I know. All this for you to feel good about taking Daddy’s tiny business.”
“Are you upset that no one wants to suck your tiny dick unless you pay for it?” I say sweetly.
The Southerner laughs. “Aw, she’s pretty, ain’t she? C’mon, if you ride me, I’ll give you money. You don’t need a bratva; you need a good dicking.”
I narrow my eyes. I don’t have a knife. But I have my combs. I start to reach for one when a hand reaches past me, grabs the American, and shoves him aside.
Seamus stands over him, then pulls him up by his hair.
“She gets better dick than you’ve got. And she’s worth more than it could possibly cost you to even look at her.
So shut the fuck up. I know who your daddy is, and you’re not even in line for number one in his little cowpoke mafia, are you?
You just fuck your way from one bed to another, paying the girls to pretend you know what you’re doing. Asswipe.”
“Let me go,” the guy whines.
Seamus pulls him up higher. “Look at my wife, speak to her, or even think about her, and I’ll fucking turn you into taxidermy, pulling everything inside of you out your dick hole.”
He lets him go and looks at the Italian. “I know your father, too. You’re known as the fool. Talk to her, look at her in that way again—”
“You’ll do to me what you just threatened to do to Nate?” The Italian sidles aside as he says this.
“No.” Seamus smiles and slings an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll let my capable and murderous wife use the weapon she keeps in her hair to gut you. Now move the fuck aside.”
He scuttles away, taking his friend, and I look up at Seamus. “Whiskey?”
“Whiskey. Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Fucking Seamus. He didn’t rush me out in a power move or to have sex with me. We got back to the house and he immediately left with Torin and two men I don’t know.
Members of their crime family, I guess. I get changed because the dress reminds me of Seamus, of his touches, of whatever it was in the bathroom where every word seemed to be so much more than its meaning. Where his touching me was like the pure essence of sex.
I pull on jeans and a light sweater and shove my feet into some sneakers.
But I leave my hair up, the combs in place. My weapons. I like that. I could even like—
No. Nope. No way.
What I should be doing is waiting tables at the diner, but I called to ask for time off. Which, of course, they’re fine with. I suspect the owners knew Dad, or Mama, and just let me work there because they do suspiciously well for a place that isn’t ever busy.
So with nothing to do and the whiskey a slight buzz in my veins, I turn to go downstairs and almost scream.
There, in the doorway, is their black cat. It blinks green eyes at me. Behind it is the big dog. A German shepherd.
Watching.
The cat stretches.
“I don’t like cats,” I say. It looks at me.
The dog makes a noise that I swear sounds like disappointment.
“Or dogs.”
The cat slinks in, sleek, black, and shining. It winds figure eights through my just parted feet, rubbing against me.
The dog trots in, hovering, reminding me of some kind of canine version of a mother hen.
“Shit,” I whisper. “It’s not you guys. I just… I never… Pets aren’t my thing. People aren’t my thing. I cook. That’s the only real thing I have outside trying to get my bratva. And I don’t even have time to cook.”
What is wrong with me? I’m just… blabbering.
I reach down and gingerly pet the cat which purrs. His fur is so silky and soft, and the dog carefully makes his way to me.
He’s big and I don’t know what to do. So I hold out my hand and he sniffs, and then I give his soft head a pet, too.
And not sure what to do next, I scurry out of the room and down the stairs. Maybe I can check out the kitchen. Maybe…
But when I approach, laughter floats into the air, and the two friendly, happy voices of Harry and Lucie coil around me.
Like some kind of trap.
I turn and run back up to my room, closing the door with the pets and everyone else on the other side.
There’s a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, so I pop the top, take a swig, kick off the sneakers, and climb into bed, fully dressed.
My phone buzzes and I grab it, but it isn’t Seamus.
Romanov. I hit answer. “Iosif—”
“Listen to me, please.”
“Are you doing this to threaten me with Tatiana?”
“No. Listen. Put off making a move on the bratva. Things are unstable right now. Let me help by putting one of my men in charge. Not you, not a Murphy, not until things stabilize and I find out who planted that bomb.”
I frown. “But Murphy’s protecting me. And this marriage is good.” I cross my fingers.
“Meet me tomorrow to talk.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say as I hang up.
Outside, thunder rumbles and I replay the conversation in my head, trying to think. Unstable, how? And where’s Seamus?
My phone buzzes again. It’s Claudetta.
R U coming to the diner 2nite? Wanna meet?
I shoot off a quick response.
Not working, but I’ll meet you in ten.
It’s what I need. Something not to do with any of this. I race down the stairs, praying the code’s going to work. It does. The heavens open up right as I reach the diner, but there’s no one inside when I peer through the front window.
I open the door, the jingle of the bell above the door shattering the eerie silence. No customers. No Claudetta. I reach into my pocket to call her.
Fuck, my pocket’s empty. I must’ve left my phone back at the house.
“Johnny?” I call out. There’s no answer. He’s probably smoking in the back and can see me on the camera feed. I wave at the security camera, grab a coffee from the pot that’s been brewed, then sit down at the counter.
But the minutes tick past. I was late. Claudetta’s even later. Too late.
I can’t even call her because the diner doesn’t have a landline. All calls go directly to Johnny’s cell phone.
Unease makes my stomach flip.
Still no customers. With a storm outside and rain pelting down, there are usually a few people here sheltering, and Johnny should be back by now.
Something’s wrong.
A shudder ripples through me and the urge to run grabs hold. Heart pounding, I run toward the door on shaky legs and reach for the handle when it crashes open. It’s so dark outside, I didn’t even see the silhouette of someone lurking.
A fist cracks against my face before I can open my mouth to scream. I crumple to the ground, stunned, the pain searing. I try to get up, but a tattooed hand grabs me around the neck and lifts me off my feet. I claw at his hands, my feet kicking furiously.
What the fuck?