Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE
AIDEN
Everything was set. Tonight we’d head to Scotland.
The office light hummed above us while we pored over the plan again in detail, covering every contingency.
We’d ride up in a helicopter and drop onto my superyacht’s helipad, forty miles from Glasgow, out in the Irish Sea. From the yacht, we’d charter a boat under the cloak of night, our prisoner shackled as we drove into the mouth of a cave.
If it turned out that Sam lied, I’d put a bullet in his traitorous brain and let the sea swallow him.
My brothers and I were clad in black combat gear, with jackets layered with hidden armor.
The office door swung open, hitting the back wall.
Raven stood in the frame wearing jeans that clung to her long legs, a black turtleneck that hid her pale neck, and black high-top Converse. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail.
“Is that your version of combat gear?” Kyran’s voice was laced with humor that I didn’t quite find funny.
“Is that why you were asking me what we wear when we do mafia shit?” Tyran asked, leaning against the table, grinning.
I watched her, my chest tightening. I was afraid of this, and it was exactly why I’d shared minimal details with her. I couldn’t bear the idea of leading her into harm’s way.
She crossed the room slowly, her eyes on me, and I knew what her next words would be.
“You’re not going,” I said before she could voice them.
She tilted her chin stubbornly. “Yes, I am.”
“Raven,” I warned.
“You can’t leave me here alone,” she hissed. “I need to be there when you rescue my mom.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I have her.”
She was already shaking her head. “No, I need to be there.”
“Mo cuishle, you’re pregnant, and it’s too dangerous.”
“Don’t you mo cuishle me, Aiden. I love that nickname, but it won’t change my mind.”
“Whoa, whoa. Pregnant?” Kyran piped in. “Holy shit. You two work fast.”
Raven shot him a glare. “Stop talking, Kyran.” She came to stand in front of me, glaring up at me. “I’m coming, Aiden. She’ll need me and—”
“No,” I cut in.
She let out a frustrated breath. “My mom won’t want to go with you. Remember, she’s the one who made me promise to run far away from you and your family. The one who made me fake my death.”
I paused, pondering her words, and Raven took it as an opening. “She thinks the Callahans are just like Duncan. You need me there.”
Fuck!
“She might be right,” Tyran chimed, echoing my own thoughts. “We don’t want her mom resisting.”
“And we’ll have reinforcement backing us up,” Kyran cut in, and I let out an exasperated groan. When did my brothers become her knights? The reinforcements my brother was referring to were men from the Blackhawk Security firm who were experienced in military combat and rescue missions.
But none of that convinced me that it was safe to bring my wife so close to danger, and Duncan Lyons was a synonym for danger—especially for her.
Dread pooled in the pit of my stomach as my instincts flared. Protecting Raven was my priority, and taking her into the lion’s den would be the antithesis.
“I won’t play hero,” Raven continued, putting her hand on my chest. “I’ll stick to you like glue and only speak when I see my mom.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I extricated myself from her warm touch and went to my safe, taking out a small knife and handgun.
“Whoa, you’re giving your wife a gun?” Kyran questioned. “Are you sure that’s smart?”
I ignored him and turned to her, then began demonstrating how to use the weapon.
“You release the safety switch, then put your finger on the trigger.” I guided her finger to it and let her hold it. “This is for emergencies only. If shit hits the fan, you shoot at anything that moves and get out of there.”
I reached for the holster and hooked it on her shoulders.
“I feel like a mobster.” She tried to smile, but her trembling lips failed.
“You stay by my side,” I demanded. “Use me as a shield if bullets fly.”
“But—”
“No fucking buts, Raven,” I growled. “You protect yourself and our baby, and you get the fuck out of there.”
“O-okay.”
We stood, staring at each other while I battled my inner demons that demanded I lock her up in a tower and protect her. But I knew that wasn’t the answer to our marriage.
“Do I have time to get my prenatal vitamins?” she asked, and I nodded. She turned on her heel and rushed out.
The moment the sound of squeaking Converse faded away down the hallway, Tyran deadpanned, “You love her.”
“I do,” I replied without hesitation.
Despite seeing what love did to my parents, I loved her. It terrified me because it meant I had something to lose.
There was no point in pretending. I should’ve told her. Hell, I should shout it from the rooftops, but now wasn’t the time. Not before we headed into a mission.
Timing mattered, and I’d prefer to profess my love when this business with Duncan and her mother was behind us.
“I think she loves you too,” Kyran added dryly, arms crossed. “When she was grilling me about our dress code, she started talking about your ass in jeans. In graphic detail.”
Tyran made a choking sound. “What?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re making that shit up.”
He made a pfft sound.
“The hell I am. She said, and I quote, ‘I hope he wears skinny jeans because I love his ass in them,’ and then she rambled on about how they make you look like a wanted felon she wants to ravish. I threw up a little in my mouth.”
I blinked. “She said that?”
“Oh, yes,” Kyran said, nodding grimly. “And that she loves when you wear a holster and she hopes one day you’ll wear it naked. Then she pointed finger guns at me. It was fucking disturbing.”
Tyran was wheezing now, halfway folded over the edge of the table.
“I’m sorry, but this is the best thing I’ve heard all week. Show me again how she pointed her fingers at you, Kyran.”
He ignored him. “I think she’s trying to establish psychological dominance through sex or some shit. Or she’s lost her ever-loving mind for your criminal ass.”
“Well,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck, “she’s not wrong. I’m pretty sexy in jeans.”
“Oh my God, he agrees.” Tyran laughed, practically crying now. “Next thing you know, he’s gonna be handing out headshots with his mug shot on the back.”
“Shut up,” I said, but I couldn’t stop smirking.
“Seriously,” Kyran said. “You two are gross. It’s like watching two emotionally constipated humans.”
I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head. “I can’t wait until you get married.”
There was a pause, and then Kyran added with a small shrug, “You’ll be waiting a long time. Until then, for the love of God, tell your wife you love her.”
I looked at the hallway she’d disappeared down, registering the faint sound of her washing a dish.
“After we get her mom out safely,” I said.
Tyran clapped me on the back. “That’s the spirit. Nothing says romance like surviving an attack on her father and coming out with trauma.”
“Exactly.” Kyran nodded. “A story for the grandkids. Assuming you live long enough to have any. Or, you know, admit your feelings like normal humans.”
“Coming from you?” I raised an eyebrow.
“I’m deeply emotionally unavailable,” Kyran replied. “But I don’t make finger guns at people when I’m into them.”
Tyran made a pew pew sound and winked. “You sure? It’s kind of sexy.”
“I hate both of you,” Kyran muttered.