Chapter 32
Rhys
Fallon left to check on a neighbor’s indoor tomato plant, and here I am in her flat, determined to find the journal she mentioned earlier. Figure out how this all bloody started.
The compact size of her place works in my favor. It’s not a house that will take hours to comb through every nook and cranny. Glancing around, I spot the nightstand littered with those pill bottles. Anger rolling through me, I halt when I see the top drawer.
I know from my experience as an investigator, women who write in journals usually do so at night. At bedtime. Keeping one in a nightstand makes sense.
But as a man, I know what else women keep in their nightstands. I’m not sure I can handle finding out if Fallon has a vibrator.
Groaning, I peek inside, and when there’s no waft of latex, I open the drawer further. And it’s filled with notebooks.
Shite
Lifting one, I pop it open and spot her chaotic handwriting. Yep, it’s a journal. Fuck, how do I go through all these? I flip through one after the other, wasting precious time to get out of here. I stop when I see my name.
I sit on the bed and read an entry from two years ago:
October 1st
I got another letter today. From him. It smelled like bleach and prison sweat. Daddy said that I should be grateful to be given to a man like Kosta Orlov. Said his loyalty to our family earned him the right to take me as his wife.
The happiest day of my life was when I found out he went to jail.
He said he’s working on getting out. Something about a parole hearing.
Feeling a spiral coming on, I ran outside to get air and slipped into my favorite tea shop. The one that smells like steeped black tea and warm cinnamon the second you step inside. I ordered a calming blend I don’t keep at home, something floral with citrus that forces my lungs to expand.
The line was slow, the shop crowded, and a man behind me kept snapping at me to move. I couldn’t. My legs were syrupy.
Then he was there. Black coat, long hair, and lethal beauty with his usual harsh expression.
My neighbor, who I’ve figured out is an assassin for the Irish Mob.
He didn’t say a word to me. He just shoved the man yelling at me back so hard he fell to the sticky tiled floor.
“She’s mine,” he growled.
That was all I could make out over the ringing in my ears.
“Are you okay?” he asked me, his Irish accent strong and rich.
I just gave a nod, unable to speak.
“You knock on my door any time you need me, do you understand?” he said, grabbing his bag of loose-leaf tea that he purchases once a month.
I just shook my head in agreement.
That’s when it clicked.
She’s mine. I’m his.
Somewhere I agreed to be his girlfriend. Meds in the past caused spotty memory.
I woke up with a basil plant. Then an ivy appeared. Next, I planted a whole garden. I ditched the meds but kept the plants.
But that’s why he talks to me. I am this breathtaking man’s girlfriend. But it’s clear we have to keep it quiet.
He’s an assassin.
And Kosta will kill him.
“No one is fucking killing me,” I mutter.
Christ, I remember that day. But I don’t remember calling her mine. I think I told the idiot who pushed her that she was my neighbor.
Mine.
My neighbor.
And she was spiraling. Ears ringing.
She has fucking blackouts from these pills?
God…
All this time, she thought she was my girlfriend. It wasn’t something she conjured in her head. Not a delusion. It was something I said.
And then I went on to ignore her for nearly two years.
The sound of her flat’s front door opening startles me.
Bloody hell.
I shove the book back inside the nightstand and dash into the bathroom. There’s no damn window in here I can crawl out of. She’s a Wallenda with her balance. I’d fall to my death with one step onto the ledge.
Heart pounding, I have to let her know I’m in here. But I also have to get that damn tattoo this afternoon, and I was hoping she’d be out longer.
Shite. Shite. Shite.
“Hey, Fallon,” I call out, flushing the bowl then waltzing out like nothing is wrong.
“What are you doing?” Her star-shaped earrings swing as she turns and stares.
I actually fucking flinch with embarrassment, and I hate myself for what I’m about to do. Lie to her.
“I thought I heard something over here.” I pick up one of the plants. “This guy fell over. Must have been the wind.”
“Oh.” She turns to the closed window.
“I shut it.”
“Oh.” Then she lights up and bounces toward me. “What a surprise. I thought you were busy today.”
“I am,” I mutter, aiming for vague and uninteresting.
She narrows those hazel eyes on me. “Doing what?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and exhale slowly through my nose. “An errand.”
She’s all sunshine and glitter. She’s wearing an ugly Christmas sweater covered in stitched poinsettias, and of course, a bloody short skirt. She’s beautiful and funny and sexy, and she makes me smile the minute I open my eyes, knowing I’ll see her later that day.
She’s too fucking good for me.
This is only temporary.
That’s what I told myself the day she caught me with a dead body on my floor. I’m hers just until the Christmas chaos is over.
I will keep the promise, and then cut her loose. She’ll tell herself I just got too busy for her again.
So why are my fucking eyes tearing up at the look I know I’ll get when I blow her off in January?
I watch her clutch the basil plant, almost expecting me to say those cruel words now. It hits me like a sucker punch.
For one flicker of a dangerous second, I wonder… Why not just keep her?
She already knows what I do. She saw enough to shatter anyone else, and all she wanted was to spend more damn time with me. Not less.
“I’ll go with you!” she chirps and spins, her red curls bouncing. “This can be our couple’s errand day.”
“It wasn’t on the schedule, but I can quickly jot down: Rhys Surprise.”
I sigh. I don’t have a choice, do I?
“Come on, then,” I mutter and take her hand.
Her fingers fit between mine too easily.
Now I’m in my own spiral because I was not prepared for this. I’m silent in the elevator and then on the sidewalk while I wait for the porter to bring around my Audi from the garage.
“You have your own car? In the city?” Fallon asks as I open the door for her. “No cabs or Ubers?”
“Just easier,” I say smoothly. “Don’t like to wait.”
She seems to accept that, humming as she settles in beside me.
I weave around cars, cabs, and buses while I count the blocks until I have to explain what the hell I’m doing.
I pull up out front a brick building with a glass storefront. No flashing sign. No fancy name. Just a single word etched in the glass: Tattoo.
Jett’s brother Dirk Fields keeps things low-key.
“You’re getting another tattoo?” Fallon says, sounding shocked. Quite different from how she looked at me without a shirt, where she can see my current tats better.
“Aye,” I say and push out of the car.
“We should have talked about this,” she says, getting out before I can open the door for her.
“I’ve had an appointment for a while. This guy is booked solid.” Only when I get inside, the place is empty.
Fuck.
“D,” I call out.
“Back here.” Dirk’s muffled response means he’s in the back.
Jett’s brother emerges from behind a beaded curtain, huge and broad-shouldered. He’s older than Jett, but their resemblance is eerie.
“Rhys, my father isn’t going to like all your tattoos,” Fallon says, sounding upset.
My spine stiffens. Her father again. I have to act aloof. I don’t know who’s listening.
“I can’t believe you’re actually forcing me to meet your father,” I mutter, flipping through Dirk’s design book just to keep my hands busy.
“There’s no way around Christmas Dinner at Daddy’s without meeting him,” she says primly, then leans closer. “He’ll like you once he sees how nice you are.”
“I’m not nice,” I mutter.
“You are for a killer.” She makes me sound like a tiger who’s been conditioned to like belly rubs. “You’re nice to me,” she clarifies.
“Being nice to you is easy.” I smile at her and turn to Dirk. “D, how long will it take to ink a skull on my neck?”
Her gasp is sharp enough to cut my nerves. “No!”
Then she glues herself to me, arms cinched tight around my torso. Every muscle in me goes rigid.
“I cut my hair for you,” I say. Then whisper, “I have to do this for work.”
I take a folded paper from my jacket and open it on the glass counter. “I need this for an undercover job.”
Dirk visibly shudders, looking at the skull with snakes and a serpent coming out of its mouth. “Where did you get this?”
“Why did you just lose two shades of your tan?” I worry there is even more Ares Zervas didn’t tell me. “Have you done this tat for anyone?”
“No,” he answers quickly. “And I won’t. A Fed came in here asking me about this mark.”
“You’re kidding?”
Dirk shakes his head. “Word is the men who get this are contractors. Hired by a ghost no one can finger.”
I already know this. But I don’t want to pressure Dirk. Or make him lie to a Fed for me.
“Can you do a very life-like temporary? With henna?”
Dirk studies it, then nods. “Sure, I guess. Give me a few to make up a stencil.”
He vanishes into the back again.
“Why are you doing this?” Fallon paces nervously.
“I told you, I had to get a new tattoo as part of that deal.”
Pouting, she says, “This is not what I had in mind when I said you need to do a couple’s errand with me.”
“I went ice skating with you,” I remind her. “And remember, I’m just doing all of this to keep you quiet,” I blurt, so Dirk doesn’t think this is anything serious.
“Doing what, Rhys?” Fallon asks innocently.
“Nothing,” I whisper and kiss her cheek. Scrubbing a hand down the back of my neck, I say, “Please go sit and—”
“Can I sit on your lap?”
“Not right now.”
She crosses her arms. “Are you still mad that I bought us matching pajamas? How else will my family know we’re a happy couple on Christmas if we’re not coordinated?”
“I agreed to be your boyfriend for the holidays,” I say in a rude volume to keep up the ruse.
“You are my boyfriend,” she corrects brightly. “Forever. And I have witnesses.”
My brow knits. “What witnesses?”
“My plants,” she says without a hint of irony while hugging me again. “Our plants.”
My head drops into my hands. I’m not sure if I want to laugh or scream.
Dirk returns in his charcoal apron, stained from past ink jobs. “Tat is being pressed on the sheet. Needs a few minutes. How about you, sweetheart? I can do a nice butterfly on your—”
I shove Fallon gently behind me. “Do not finish that sentence, mate.”
Dirk chuckles and disappears again to answer his phone.
Fallon flops into a chair, swinging her legs, fiddling with her earrings. “You know, most boyfriends are happy to meet Daddy.”
My head snaps up. “You’ve introduced other boyfriends to your father? Who?”
“Plenty of boyfriends,” she says airily.
Something feral twists in my chest. “And where are these boyfriends?”
“You know what?” She blinks, thinking. “I don’t know. They meet Daddy and then…they disappear.”
A chill licks down my spine.
Then I notice her hands are trembling and her breath is coming out in choppy puffs.
I crouch in front of her. “Breathe, Fal. When we get home—”
“Not your place,” she whispers, voice gone hollow. “All that blood… I can still smell it.”
The smile is gone. Just like that. I see it, the first fraying edge of one of her spirals.
“Shush.” I touch a finger to her lips. “You’ve got this, Fal. Show me you’re strong.”
Her eyes refocus slowly on mine. “Maybe I’ll think twice about crawling into your kitchen if you water the plants,” she says, coming around to her old self.
“And next time, don’t take a nap on my sofa.”
“Good thing I hid under that blanket, or he would have seen me.”
“No one will hurt you,” I growl.
Then she mutters, “Ares saw me. He doesn’t like me, and I don’t like him.”
I’m about to say more when the beaded curtain rustles again. Connor and Raina step out of the back, adjusting clothes they clearly just scrambled back into.
Fallon lights up like sunrise. “Raina!” she squeals, launching at her. She knows her name from when Raina needed a dress for the op to kill Noel Tahiri, the previous Albanian kyre.
Raina blinks, then hugs her back. Connor’s eyes cut to me, sharp as blades.
“Rhys,” he murmurs, pulling me aside. “What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing.” My voice is iron.
Raina whispers to him, “She thinks Rhys is her boyfriend.”
“It’s for the holidays,” I play it off with a shrug. “Why not?”
Connor’s gaze narrows. “Are you still going to Ireland for Christmas?”
The words are too loud.
Fallon gasps. “What? No! He’ll be with me.”
“Hey,” I say softly, slipping an arm around her. “I’ll be with you, Fal. I promise.”
“Good.” She melts against me, tension loosening her grip.
Dirk emerges then, holding an envelope. “Stencil is ready. Instructions are inside. Call Jett or me if you’ve got questions.”
“Yay,” Fallon chirps. “No tattoos today.”
I smile. She’s so damn cute. And sexy. And dangerous in all the wrong ways.
“Thanks, D.” I pocket the press-on henna tattoo and take Fallon’s hand again.
Connor’s eyes flick down to our tangled fingers. Then he stops me at the door, low and quiet. “Mate…is there something you’re not telling me? Something Griffin needs to know?”
My loyalty to Connor twists like a blade in my ribs. Is this a fracture in Quinlan Empire if Shane hasn’t told Connor about my little Zervas problem? Connor isn’t interested in details. Griffin must still not know about the favors I’m doing.
How long will that hold? “No. There’s nothing.”
“Look me in the eye.” His words cut through me.
I remind myself, my brother is the enforcer. He knows what’s going on and has kept the secret as well. Connor does not want to start an inter-Quinlan war.
“This is nothing you need to worry about,” I tell him.
I usher my make-believe girlfriend out into the cold, her hand warm in mine, wondering if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life by lying to Quinlan Empire’s torture expert.