Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
ANDIE
We approach the double doors that lead into the conference room.
“What?”
Rafe wears a Cheshire grin, one that has only gotten bigger since our shower. “Nothing.”
My eyebrows raise, but then again, I’m wearing a similar goofy grin. Our twenty-minute shower was brief but handsy.
He stops me, lifts my face to his, and gives me the sweetest kiss. “I guess I’m just happy to have my girl back. I’ve really missed the fuck out of you.”
Well, damn.
My arms go around his chest, and I breathe in his clean, soapy skin still warm from the shower.
“I’ve missed the fuck out of you, too.”
A throat clears behind us. “You said ten minutes. It’s been three times that much.”
“Can you even count that high?” Rafe’s chest vibrates as he talks.
“Cute.” Keane says it sardonically, but I can hear a tinge of amusement.
They used to one-line each other with joking insults all the time. It’s ridiculous how something as trivial as hearing their trash talk makes me stupidly happy. Since the whole “stabbing me in the neck with a needle,” Rafe’s friendship with the guys has been strained and tenuous at best. So, as dumb as it may sound, I’m happy to hear them exchange barbs.
Keane grips the back of my shirt and tugs me away from Rafe. “It’s late. Let’s get this over with so we can go to bed.”
I don’t miss the emphasis he puts on the we and bed , and my core clenches at the subtle innuendo. Keane taps me on the ass, nudging me through the doorway when I don’t move because I’m staring at his mouth and thinking of all the wonderful things it can do.
I haven’t been in this room before, and I take a quick survey of my surroundings. Declan’s domain. The seat of the Levine organization. One of many branches tied to the Irish mob. The windowless room has padded walls to dampen sound from escaping its confines. A long dark wood table with an inlay of the Levin crest sits in the middle, its surface glossy and polished to a high shine.
I glance around the room. There are eleven leather chairs, five of them currently occupied by Pearson, Keane, Jax, Liam, and Tessa. The twelfth chair at the head of the table is larger in size, all black with intricate designs carved into the wood. The Levin crest, similar to the one on the table, adorns the top of the chair. It’s a king’s throne. Or a queen’s , I think, when I walk over to it. This is the first thing I’ve seen belonging to Declan that blatantly flaunts his power, and it’s hard for me to reconcile it with the man who wore button-down shirts and reading glasses.
Trailing a finger over the smooth wood of the family crest, another pang of guilt hits me. Instead of sitting down in Declan’s chair, I beeline straight to Jax, his new black-hilted knife twirling between his fingers.
Without me having to ask, he pushes his chair back from the table, and I take a seat in his lap. This is my throne.
No one says a word. Not even Tessa, who hates uncomfortable silences and would usually be saying something snarky and witty by now to break the tension.
Jax curls an arm around my middle and pulls me farther back in his lap.
Tessa is slumped in her chair, her face relaxed and eyes dreamy. She looks completely sated and blissed out.
Liam sits forward, forearms resting on the conference table, his patience apparently on empty. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, I jump in.
“Alejandro tried to get to Declan in the hospital. Had one of his men pretend to be an orderly and coerced a nurse into helping.”
Rafe drops his head in his hands, mumbling something in Spanish.
With arms folded over his chest, Keane swivels his chair my way. “Where are they now?”
Goose bumps skitter from shoulder to fingertips when Jax runs the hilt of his knife down my arm. “Dead,” he says.
“You took her with you? That’s how she got all that blood on her?”
I reach over and cover Liam’s hand with mine, his knuckles white as they dig into the armrests of his chair.
“I’m the one who asked Jax to help me.” I don’t have to tell Liam I’m the one who killed them. He sees the truth of what I did in my unrepentant expression.
“Princess.”
I wave off Keane’s worry. He doesn’t want me getting my hands dirty. But I can’t idly sit by, twiddling my damn thumbs. Declan chose me for a reason. He knew I could handle it.
“Is Declan okay?” Tessa asks.
I send her a gentle smile. “Yes.” I flick my attention to Pearson.
“He’ll stay in Boston at one of Cillian’s safehouses,” the quiet Russian says.
Declan will remain there until he heals and fully recovers, and who knows how the hell long that’ll be.
Tessa’s no longer relaxed. “Isn’t there going to be a police investigation at least for what happened to Declan? I thought that was protocol for any gun-related shooting.”
“No.”
That’s all Pearson says. No elaboration or further explanation. But Tessa makes a good point. However, I trust Pearson when he says no.
Keane uncrosses his arms. “Cillian? Why does that sound familiar?”
“New York,” Liam replies.
“He’s also one of my many cousins from the McCarthy side, and the person who taught me how to fight.”
Keane’s nostrils flare at my admission. Might as well lay it all out on the table.
“The day after Kellan’s funeral, after I met Liam” —I look over at my angel-turned-devil— “I was so angry. I wanted revenge. On a whim, I reached out and contacted my McCarthy relatives. I knew who they were. I knew they were Irish mafia. I wasn’t sure if anyone from that side of the family would even speak with me, but I was desperate.”
They had banished my mother. Kicked her out of the family when she was in her twenties. I can’t even recall my reasons for why I decided to take a chance and contact them. I don’t regret it.
I relax back into his chest. “You wanted to know where I learned how to fight. Now you know.”
The leather of Rafe’s chair crackles when he stands up. “Any intel from the two you questioned?”
“Not much. Your dad is back in Mexico, letting Alejandro run the show.”
Rafe presses his back to the wall, one knee bent. “That’s not entirely true.”
All eyes turn to him.
“The fuck that’s supposed to mean?” Keane barks. “You still haven’t told us who you called.”
“Oh! The floo powder!” Tessa exclaims, and the book reference throws me.
I look across the table at her, completely at a loss as to what they’re talking about. Whatever it is, it must be something that happened during the time Alejandro had me.
“My uncle,” Rafe says.
“And?” Keane prods.
Rafe rubs the back of his neck, then his jaw, before blowing out a breath. “Alejandro has been running the show for a while. Pushed Julio out and took over.”
“Like an ‘ Et tu, Brute ,’ without the stabbing and bloodshed because Julio is clearly alive and breathing,” Tessa interjects.
All heads snap to Tessa, even Pearson’s, and she shrugs in response.
I tap a fingernail on the tabletop. “Did that orgasm rattle your brain?”
Her face flushes a bright crimson.
“Trust me. Don’t ask. You don’t want to know,” Rafe tells the guys.
“But I met with Julio right after you took Andie. Told me he wanted his property back.” Keane’s voice drops to a snarl, and nausea roils in my stomach at the reminder that I was sold off to Julio and Alejandro like a cheap whore. “Why would Max make a deal with Julio and not Alejandro if he was the one in control?”
“I have no fucking clue, Keane. Maybe Julio willingly stepped down and is helping Alejandro transition into the role. Maybe Alejandro is keeping Julio around as a figurehead to maintain stability and prevent infighting and a civil war. My older brother is not well-liked, as you can imagine.”
Jax snorts.
“So, what now?” Liam asks.
I hop off Jax’s lap and go to stand behind Declan’s chair. My hands curl over the top, fingers touching the edge of the Levin crest. I take in every person in the room. My men. My family.
“I have a plan to make Alejandro come to us on our turf and our terms.” My lips curve at Keane. “I think it’s time we make an official wedding announcement.”