23. Callahan
TWENTY-THREE
callahan
Lucie is too goddamn stubborn for her own good.
And mine.
She should be punished, at the very least, and dead by my own very reasonable standards.
But she’s just fucking lucky I find her endearing, fascinating, weird, sexy, and so fucking enjoyable.
I also tend not to kill women.
I’d love to say it’s a hard line, but I’m pretty sure the only hard lines I have are immediate family and animals.
And maybe pretty Lucie with the mile-long legs and mouth that won’t fucking quit.
God only knows why she has me so captivated.
The girl has no idea how to follow orders, which I find both shocking and unsurprising.
It’s obvious her father didn’t keep his kids on a tight leash.
Lucie is the antithesis of obedient.
And still, I haven’t punished her for it.
“Where are we going? And you haven’t answered my question about the girl from back in the bar,” she says, glaring at me from across the seat of the SUV.
“What if Viviana turns up and I’m not there? And just how long did you have someone following me, anyway? ”
I rub my eyes and pull out my cigarettes.
At her filthy look, I put one between my lips, light up, and blow smoke at her.
I know I’m smoking too much at the moment, but I really don’t give a fuck.
“Ass,” she mutters.
“You ask a shit ton of questions. And that wasn’t the place to answer anything about the girl.”
“So there is a girl.” She pauses.
“You seemed to think it was a place to touch me and get me off.”
“Everywhere’s a place to touch you and get you off, Lucie Joy.” I take a drag.
“And your sister wasn’t coming. As far as being followed goes, I had eyes on you from the moment you stepped outside the brownstone.”
“Ugh, I could even feel them watching. Where are we going now?”
“We’re going to see the girl.” I blow out some smoke rings, then flick the cigarette butt out the window, not really in the mood for talking.
I’m still sore from having my body singed by that goddamn explosion, from crashing through a window, and landing against cracked concrete.
She turns to me. “Does the girl have something to do with why you were blown up?”
“I wasn’t blown up. It was an attempted bombing.”
“Is that why you asked about Dad?”
“He asked if we knew someone who could help out and rescue a girl who’d been taken. This girl.” I pull up the photo of the blonde and show her.
“Nadia Benson?”
Now I turn to her.
“You know her?”
“Her dad’s a landscaper, very well known and in demand, but…”
“Someone took her and someone blew up the place with us and the kidnappers in it. ”
“But…” Lucie frowns.
“Why?”
“Her dad’s a criminal, and criminals usually attract other criminal sorts, Lucie. I figured you’d know this, being the daughter of a fucking criminal. And now being married to one.”
“Mr. Benson’s just a landscaper.”
Fuck, I mean, it could be true.
And maybe the bomb belonged to Pella, who forgot he’d activated it.
Could happen.
I roll my eyes at the idiocy.
And water just might be dry.
My Lucie isn’t a criminal, and she doesn’t think like one.
If she’s been told this Mr. Benson is a good guy who just does gardens, and she’s seen no evidence to the contrary, then she’s not going to question it.
The innocent don’t ever question shit.
Me, I haven’t been innocent since I took my first breath and I’m sitting here thinking a landscaping business is perfect for a so-called small-fry criminal dude to do all kinds of things, like move merchandise, make deals, carry messages, all kinds of things for all kinds of people, and the fact that he’s in demand means he moves between different families, different factions of those crime families.
That all clicks for me.
But it also means the girl, his daughter, just might be useless.
When we reach Brooklyn and the safe house in Crown Heights, I do something I only do with my brothers.
I trust Lucie.
Seamus will be arriving soon to arrange for the girl’s return.
Mary O’Brien runs the safe house with her husband who’s backup muscle, but my money’s on Mary being the one to take a fucker down.
I’ve known her since Belfast, a lifetime ago .
Lucie goes in to talk to the girl and I sit down and share a whiskey with Mary.
“So, that’s your girl? Cute. Good?”
I shrug off the “good” question.
Just because I think she just might be on the up-and-up doesn’t mean I’m gonna share that with anyone.
So instead, we talk old times and the fact that O’Sullivan’s been seen.
Mary’s adamant a crap bomb has his name all over it.
I’m still struggling with the how.
Because even if he followed us, he’d have had to get into the restaurant and out again all with us not seeing.
“If the girl knows anything, saw anything, as small as it might be, she just might tell Lucie, someone she knows.”
“The little girl’s innocent.” Mary laughs.
“Can you imagine? Innocent? At that age?”
The door bursts open and Seamus walks in.
“What did I miss? Anything good? Anybody die?”
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Or, you know, when it’s the right time.
Since returning Nadia to her father and turning down the offer of a reward means one grateful father who will want to pay me back at some point.
And my assumption was right.
He’s an asset I could use down the line.
I’ve been so busy this week that I haven’t dealt with Lucie’s insanely expensive shopping spree or her fucking asshat of a father.
The man’s called and I know he wants to talk about what happened in Jamaica, wants to try to wiggle in on any side hustles we might have .
I do want to talk to him, but he needs to wait—and fucking sweat—in the meantime.
I have work to do first.
We’ve been setting up deeper roots, expanding our base.
The connections that I’ve chosen to use from de Rosa are good, but what we’re finding more lucrative is our connection to the de Rosa name.
I haven’t had much time with Arnold, who’s quickly turning into a confident dog.
Oh, he has moments, but he’s smart, strong, and for some unknown reason loves that idiotic cat with the ridiculous name.
Lucie’s in the shower when I get home earlier than expected on Friday.
I’m fine with that. I strip off my clothes and get in the shower with her, kissing away her little scream and pressing her into the wall.
Fuck. She makes me so damn hard, and I don’t even think as I lift her and drive into her pussy.
She’s tight and the stretch around my cock is enough to almost send me over the edge.
“Oh my God…” she mewls.
I’m balls deep, and I hold the position.
A throb beats in my dick and tightens my balls.
“Fuck, Lucie. So good.”
The water is hot and she’s even hotter.
Little ripples shoot down to my cock.
I kiss her, pushing her lips open with my tongue as I start to move inside of her.
She digs her fingers into the back of my neck and kisses me back, biting and sucking at my tongue.
It’s hard, deep, fast, her body gripping me tight, sucking me in every time I pull out.
This should be a crime, how she seems made for me, a perfect vessel for my cock.
Every single fucking rung on my ladder pulls just so to send tight little tingles of pleasure rolling down my cock to suck at my balls and then spear up my spine .
I bite her lip, then kiss down to her throat and suck.
She rewards me with a gasping moan as she bounces on my cock.
Her legs tighten as she rides each thrust, her clit angled to rub against me and I want to feast on that, on her cunt, her mouth.
Shit, I want all of her, everywhere and at once.
Lucie’s pure adrenaline, a life force that lights me up.
It’s not just the physical, it’s chemistry.
Something with us just clicks and she moans as she pushes herself up and down as much as she can as she spasms around me, cunt clenching hard, that slick tunnel milking me.
The pressure builds, the need to release, to come overtakes, and I thrust hard into her.
I slam a hand against the tile, mashing her into the wall as the orgasm explodes, my mind and body spinning.
My cock pulsates, twitching with my release, and I flood her with my cum.
She doesn’t stop, though.
She gyrates her hips over me, rubbing her wet tits against my chest—oh, holy fuck—against my nipple piercings like they’re giving her an extra edge to the pleasure still coursing through her.
I turn us, so my back’s to the wall, her legs trapped at my ass and I kiss her long and hard, slipping my tongue along hers like I can drink her passion into me and she responds like she’s trying to do the same with me.
When the kiss ends, I let her down, her slick body sliding against me.
Without thinking, I wrap my arms around her and kiss her forehead, stroking a line down along her spine.
Then I let her go, pour some of my shampoo into my hands, and I start to wash her hair.
“I did that already.”
“Like I care.” I continue, taking my time, cleaning and washing her, learning her curves, an endless journey.
Later, when I’m dried and dressed, I lean against the door of the en suite, watching as she picks through the pile of packages not even the dead could miss.
Guilt stings the air, along with her self-consciousness.
I don’t really have time for this, but whatever.
I make it. Lucie’s an endless source of fun for me, a complexity I enjoy.
For some reason she’s like a balm I never knew I needed, a softness that pleases against the harshness of my life.
Don’t get me wrong, I thrive on that harshness.
It’s the real me, my blood.
The thing that built my bones and will with such strength.
But she’s the perfect little surprise.
“The blue box and the peach lingerie.”
She jumps.
“Lucie, the fucking room’s peppered with what you bought. I looked. Put on the pretty see-through bra and panties and the cream dress. I don’t care about the shoes.”
“Where are we going?”
“Out. Later tonight, but I’ve got business first.”
“Am I coming with you?”
Christ. My secret weapon shaped like a girl.
I shrug. “You’re staying here. I just want to see that outfit now, give me something to look forward to.”
She glares, then grabs the dress and lingerie and starts toward the bathroom.
I catch her by the arm.
“Nope, I just fucked the ever-loving life out of you. Put that on here in front of me, and make it a show.”
She drops her towel.
Part of me whispers that I made a strategic mistake, because Lucie naked makes me hard.
She slides on the panties, and oh fuck, I can see that pretty pussy, all swollen and reddened from me fucking her.
The lingerie which, yeah, I did look at…
just the lingerie and that one box—hey, I’m not stupid, lingerie is infinitely more interesting to me than dresses.
But now I’m hard again and I have to head out in a bit.
Still, I torture myself because I want to watch her dress.
“Bend over and pick out your shoes. Slowly.”
I get another glare, this one with a glint of evil that shoots excitement right up my cock to my balls, and I’m so close to unzipping and jacking off slowly.
Lucie hooks her towel-dried hair back, her tits with their tight, pointy—aroused—nipples lifting as she does so.
Then she turns, sashays over to a group of shoe boxes, taking her time as she bends at the waist, so I have a perfect fucking eyeful of her pussy lips and shapely ass, all showing in her netted panties.
She looks at each box.
She’s about to pass over a pair of red heels that are high and glossy and I don’t know where the fuck she got them from, but I make it my mission to take her to that store again.
“Those.”
“They don’t go,” Lucie says.
“Do you think I care?”
“No.”
“Put them on and come here.”
She does, walking carefully to me.
Those shoes are high, and she rubs against me.
I take a nipple and twist, then shove a hand into her panties to roughly finger her.
The moment she moans and starts to rock on me, I stop.
“Finish getting dressed.”
“You—”
“Please.”
She’s flushed all over, and her juices cling to my fingers.
I suck them as she finishes getting dressed and I taste us both.
What I want is another round with her, maybe her on top, riding me, or sucking my dick as I eat her out before I take that sweet, delicious ass again.
But I force myself to think of my late-evening work, and then I ask her something I should have earlier.
“Has your sister contacted you again?”
Concern flashes.
“No. Do you think she’s in trouble?”
“How do you know it was your sister who texted you that night?” I ask gently.
She shrugs and frowns.
“Because there’s no one else who’d text.”
“Parents, friends?”
Her eyes drop, then she turns and I zip up the dress, skimming a knuckle over her spine as I do so.
“I don’t have those sort of friends. And I haven’t heard from my parents since we got married.”
That makes me pause.
“Not even once?”
“I’m your problem now.”
And I’m glad for it.
I smile at her, running my gaze over her curves in the dress.
“Good. I need to take care of some things, but Torin and Dec will be here. Along with guards.”
They’re not a personal choice for me.
The Murphys take care of themselves.
But until I sort out the who behind the bomb and find that fucker, O’Sullivan, I want her guarded.
That extra touch that announces hands the fuck off.
“And then we’re going somewhere, right?” Lucie asks.
I laugh. “What would you do if I said no, love?”
She licks her lips.
“Spend the rest of your money.”
“I’d like to see you try.” I’m guessing Lucie has no idea how rich I am, how powerful I am.
Or maybe she just doesn’t care.
“And,” she adds, “I’d ask why I’m dressed up?”
“Viewing pleasure.” I brush my mouth over hers.
“I’ll be back. Be ready for a late dinner. I want to check out a club and restaurant I’m interested in.”
With that, I head downstairs where Seamus is going over some paperwork.
“Torin has something. ”
I go still.
“Paddy?”
But Torin comes up with the fucking fur scrap in his hands, Arnold anxious at his side.
Goddamn cat.
“No,” he says.
Tor, not the cat. “You mentioned something about Lucie’s sister contacting her earlier in the week?”
“Yeah.” I frown.
“Why?”
“Got something on the dude she apparently skipped town with.”
I know I’m not going to like this.
“Name is Headley Stymes, and it seems that the bastard is FBI.”
Fuck.