Chapter 16
Rhys
Ireturn to my flat, annoyed to find Ares still there. There are no guards in sight. Or anyone to help clean up the body.
Fuck.
The Greek bastard sits on my sofa, his expensive coat open, expressionless, despite walking into a crime scene. His gaze flicks to the body, then to me.
With that infuriating smugness, he says, “This is quite a mess, Rhys. I didn’t expect that killing a man, then fucking your girlfriend near the dead body was your kink.”
Blood boiling, I’m tempted to tell him that Griffin put a belt around his sister’s neck and made his wife blow him on top of a dead body.
I keep my mouth shut because I don’t need Ares storming off to kill the head of the Irish Mob and reignite a war we’ve all worked so hard to end. I need him here in my flat because this is his fault.
“She’s not my girlfriend. Not…really. And I didn’t fuck her near the body, I haven’t…” I stop talking when he looks bored. “Why are you still here?”
“To offer you protection.” He rises and stands over the body, his face hardened with anger.
“Now that he’s dead, I don’t need it.” I bend down and pull the dead guy’s collar aside. “I caught something on his neck.”
Behind the guy’s ear is an inked dark skull with a serpent coming out of its mouth. I take out my phone and snap a photo.
“Don’t bother. I know what that tattoo means,” Ares says, voice calmer now. “You eliminated a contract killer who has ties to a very dangerous organization.”
“Great.”
“I can fly you to my home in Santorini and—”
“No thanks. How did you get a lock on this guy?” I kick the body.
“Atlas hacked his phone. He was texting a blocked number, saying he was on his way to pay back the Irish hitman. I got in my car with the guards and hoped we could stop him.”
“You’re late. But it’s the thought that counts. Help me move this thing onto a tarp.”
He grabs me by the throat. “Have you forgotten who the fuck I am?”
Kings don’t clean up dead bodies. Got it.
“Then get the fuck out,” I bark, slapping his hands off me. “I don’t need your house in Santorini. This is a complication I didn’t expect. But I can handle it. I can put fake messages in his phone and make his death look like it was someone else.”
One Greek eyebrow rises at that one. “The woman who saw you kill him is a complication I didn’t expect.”
“What woman?” a voice asks from the doorway, making me jump and pull my gun.
“Fuck. Trace!” I have the barrel pointed at my brother, the Empire’s enforcer.
“What’s going on? Who’s the stiff?” Trace, dressed in a suit, asks as he looks at the body. Our two trackers, Blade and Jett, fan out behind him. Blade is cold fury in inked skin, while Jett is loose and easygoing, even when he’s warming up his knuckles and itching for violence.
Ares takes advantage of the three inches he has on my 6’5’ brother.
“I needed a favor,” Ares finally answers Trace. “This man had to die.”
“Looks like he’s accomplished that?” he says, crossing his arms.
“I was told he was a drug dealer,” I interject before Ares starts telling lies.
“And he’s not?” Trace asks, looking from Ares to me.
“I needed him gone.” Ares squeezes my brother’s shoulder. “And I wanted your night demon to handle it.”
Night demon? I like that.
“You call this handled?” Trace grumbles.
“Aye, it’s a mess.” I wave to Blade. “I need a tarp. Get rid of this guy.”
“Got it, boss. Let’s go,” Blade signals to Jett, and they move instantly with merciless efficiency.
But Trace blocks them with his arm. “This is your goddamn home, Rhys. You need a professional cleaner.”
“Calling the crew now,” Jett says and paces in my kitchen while Blade watches the front door.
Hopefully, no one else wanders in here.
“What woman is Ares talking about?” Trace isn’t letting that one go.
“Red hair. Very pretty,” Ares answers.
“Fallon?” Trace looks from me to him.
“Forget her.” I stomp to my spare bedroom, where I keep a large cache of weapons locked up and tarps.
Blade crouches over the body, sniffing. “This thing will stink soon.”
“I’ll grab his feet,” Jett says, after shucking off his coat.
I toss the tarp on the floor. The body is heavier than it looks. Dead weight always is. I drag it toward the tarp, scrambling for a lie to tell about Fallon. I really wish I could just shoot Ares. Dump him with this guy and bury them both.
His brothers are lethal, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ares is either tagged or has a tracking implant. It’s not worth it.
I lean in to Trace. “Nobody saw. Nobody knows. It’s done.”
He studies me, eyes sharp. “Nobody but her.”
My stomach knots. “Not really, she was under a blanket on my sofa. I hid her.”
Trace glances around. “You need to lay low. Go to the safehouse.”
And leave Fallon?
“No.” I shut down the flash of protectiveness firing through me before it shows. “I’m fine. Just put a few more guards near the building.”
“He doesn’t want to leave his girlfriend,” Ares says with a grin.
“Shut the fuck up.” My voice cracks through the tension. “Listen, I don’t give a fuck if you head the Greek mafia.” I lunge for him. “You were late coming to warn me. Get the hell out.”
Trace holds me back, concerned at how I’m talking to a lethal mafia don. Blade and Jett stare at me, watching me fall apart.
I don’t comment on how those two are off somewhere pretending they’re not dating while I’m here pretending I am.
Ares takes a call and leaves without saying goodbye.
Out of earshot, Trace says to me, “If Fallon was a witness, you know what that means?”
“Aye, she was. Is,” I stress that I have every intention of keeping her alive.
Trace pulls me in by the sleeve. “I know you think you’re invincible. You’re not. You see how Aunt Norah silently mourns our cousin. Don’t put that on our mother. You’re her…”
“Her what?” I am horrified to hear the end of that sentence.
“You are our legacy, Rhys. It is up to you to carry on our name.” He speaks out of pride and not defeat.
His wife Shea-Lynne can’t have children, and he got snipped to prove he wants her and only her.
I make light of his warning. “There are plenty of Quinlan brats to carry the name.”
“Not from our father’s line,” Trace reminds me that there’s always been a Patrick Quinlan.
“Why does Ares seem to think Fallon is your girlfriend?” Trace deadpans.
I stiffen before I can stop myself. “That’s a long story. Since you’re so interested in my love life…” I lean forward. “When you checked her out, were there any medical or psychological red flags?”
“Psychological?” Trace hisses. “I only looked her up once. She came up clean.”
“Was it too clean? Like somebody scrubbed her?”
Trace frowns, not wanting to deal with this. “I recalled she had a high history of seeing doctors, and a lot of prescriptions.”
I shudder at how he knew this but never told me. Or did I ignore that part of his report at the time? How much did I have going on if that detail went over my head? I’m furious that I walked into Fallon’s life blind.
Rubbing my eyes, I say, “Aye. When I brought her back to her flat, I saw dozens of pill bottles, Trace. Anti-psychotic stuff and sedatives.”
My brother rubs his chin. “I don’t want to downplay it, but plenty of people are on all kinds of shite.”
I let him drop it if he doesn’t know anything devastating about why she’s on all that medication. No need to make him worry. If I hint that she’s unstable, he will take the matter out of my hands.
There is still a risk, but I will deal with it. I will deal with her. Protect her. Do anything that will keep her and me safe.
My brother studies me. “Do you want me to dig further into her?”
“No,” I bite out quickly.
“You sure?”
“Positive,” I lie, watching Blade and Jett waiting in the hall for the cleaners to arrive and get this damn body out of my flat.
“Be careful, dosser.” Trace hugs me and leaves, but throws one last warning glance at me before disappearing out my front door.
“Aye,” I say, more to myself because my brain is ringing like a fire alarm.
Witnesses are either killed or legally eliminated. Like through marriage. If it were a matter of life and death, or freedom or incarceration, I’d say some useless vows to a woman who could destroy me.
I won’t put Fallon through something like that. I don’t think she can mentally handle it. She thinks I’m her boyfriend, but I’m not sure she wants me to be her husband. Especially after hearing me kill someone.
My pulse spikes, thinking back to how delicately Fallon smiled even while I shoved her under a blanket to drive a machete through a man’s skull. A weapon he brought to my flat to kill me. I would have just snapped his neck.
Fallon is not just a witness. She’s a complication I can’t kill.
And I’m falling for her.