Chapter 29
Casey
It’s kind of a fucked-up situation.
For a week, I wake up in Declan’s bed with Declan’s muscular and perfect arms wrapped around my body and Declan’s thick and very impressive dick pressed against my ass and very much hard. And for a week, I let him fuck me wherever, whenever, and however he wants.
It’s total madness.
I’m still pissed at him. At least, I keep telling myself that.
Even when I’m on my hands and knees on top of his desk letting him eat me out from behind, even when I’m orgasming with his dick in my mouth and his fingers between my legs, even when I’m getting filled to the brim in the back of a soundproof town car, I keep thinking, man, I’m so mad at this guy.
But that voice gets quieter and quieter, until I realize something.
He makes me laugh way more than he makes me angry.
Which seems kind of normal, right?
It wasn’t like that before though. Back when he was Boss Bastard, nothing he did was funny.
And a lot of it drove me totally crazy.
Now the dynamic’s changing. He’s caring… devoted… he listens to what I have to say…
It’s like I broke something in him.
He’s still a demanding asshole. He still expects perfection from the both of us and he punishes me when I fail to live up to his standards.
But his punishments are more fun these days.
And he’s much more loving with his aftercare.
On the sixth day of our new life together, he takes me into a Bronx neighborhood I’m not familiar with. We park outside of an old, rundown-looking Irish bar with faded Celtic crosses on the front and a chipped red door.
“Is this one of yours?” I ask, stepping out of the BMW and adjusting my notebook.
He frowns at the facade. “Not mine.”
I follow him inside and he doesn’t bother elaborating.
The interior is as worn as the front. The booth tables are scratched and marked. The booths are held together with tape. An old man tends the bar and nods as we enter. Two Whelan associates are seated in the far corner. One is Donnell and the other I don’t recognize.
Declan approaches them and shakes hands with the stranger first. “Glad you came, Finbar,” he says.
Finbar grunts awkwardly and glances at Donnell before answering. “Well, it wasn’t my idea, I’ll tell you that.”
“You’re here. That’s all I care about.” Declan nods to Donnell. “Should we get started?”
The men sit in the booth. I go to the bar and ask for three good whiskies while they go through the formalities. That gives me a chance to study Finbar.
I don’t know anything about him, but he instantly gives me a bad feeling.
He’s thin and shifty, always moving like he can’t sit still.
His clothes are too big, and his hair’s shaved on the sides with it shaggy on top.
It’s that goofy broccoli cut that’s so popular these days.
Except he’s not young. I’d guess he’s in his forties at least. There’s something off about his vibe, and I just can’t put my finger on it.
I return to the table with the drinks. Declan puts a hand on my thigh possessively when I sit beside him like he always does.
I’ve learned to ignore it and force myself to at least seem professional.
When I open the notebook, Declan shakes his head quickly.
“No writing this time,” he murmurs, and I quickly snap it shut.
They start discussing territories and payments. I gather Finbar is an important member of a street crew that’s been working with the Whelans for a while but hasn’t been happy with the deal as of late. Donnell acts as the go-between and negotiator, smoothing things over when Finbar gets agitated.
I keep looking around the bar as they talk.
If I’m not taking notes, sometimes I get distracted.
And this place feels strange. It’s not our usual meeting place, and parts of it seem almost familiar.
Like that jukebox in the corner and the dirty Irish flag hanging over the bar.
I frown to myself and vaguely remember my mother talking about a flag just like that, brought over from the old world, a flag used during the Easter Rising or something like that. But it can’t be the same one.
“It’s always money, Whelan.” Finbar shoves his way out of the booth with a sneer at the conclusion of their meeting. He shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders tense and rounded. “You just uphold your end of the bargain.”
“It’s only money.” Declan stands and offers his hand.
Finbar scowls and storms off without shaking.
“I’ll make sure everything’s settled.” Donnell nods to Declan and hurries to follow after Finbar.
Declan watches the men go with a stern look. He doesn’t speak for a moment until he turns and looks at me. His face relaxes slightly, and he sinks down beside me again.
“What do you think of our new friend?”
“It was hard to get a read on him. What’s his story?”
“Meth dealer. One of the biggest. But with great drugs comes huge fucking egos.” He sighs and stretches his back. He sips some whiskey and tugs me against him. “You don’t have to worry though. I’ve got it handled.”
“I know you do.” I lean my head on his shoulder. I like these moments after the meetings where he can be more himself again without worrying about anything else.
He wraps an arm around me and tugs me closer. He’s warm, and after a minute of quiet like that, he seems to calm down and get centered again. His lips brush my hair, and when I look up, he’s smiling.
“Can you guess why we’re meeting in here?”
“I assumed Finbar picked it out.”
He makes an amused face. “No, this was my choice. I picked it for you, actually.”
I frown a little and lean back to see him better. “Why for me?”
But before he answers, I get that feeling. The overwhelming sense of familiarity. The flag behind the bar. The teal seat covers. Even the dirty old floor.
Declan brushes his knuckles across my cheek. “This was your family place back before your parents died.”
It hits me like a wave. That’s actually the flag. It’s the same flag my father used to talk about.
“I’ve been here before,” I say as a wave washes over me. I can’t identify the emotion at first. It pounds me down and makes me feel flat and destroyed.
Slowly, I slip from the booth. Declan’s watching me carefully and stays very close. “I bet you grew up in this place. It was different all those years ago, but they kept the same stuff the same. I think it changed ownership a few times.”
I hurry to the bathrooms. Declan follows, and I don’t care if he thinks I’ve gone insane. I rush into the women’s room, heart racing into my throat, and practically run to the sinks. I kneel down at the far left and look underneath the counter.
There, scratched into the wood, are my initials.
Tears clog my throat and spill down my cheeks.
I run my fingers over those letters, and I can see my mother all over again. Her dark reddish hair, her enormous smile, and incredible laugh.
Declan kneels down beside me, a hand on my knee.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d like it.”
“No, I do. I love this, it’s just—” I guide his hand and make him touch the initials.
“My mother did that when I was a little girl. I was so scandalized, but she told me it was okay. Sometimes breaking the rules is okay, so long as they’re small rules and nobody gets hurt. I can’t believe it’s still here.”
He smiles sadly and watches me. “Your parents loved you.”
“They did. I mean, I don’t fully understand what things were like, you know? I was a kid back then. I didn’t know about the crime and all that.”
“They were just your mom and dad. They tried to give you a normal life.”
“I guess so.”
“Aside from promising you to me.”
“Right, aside from that.”
“It’s a good thing. They cared enough to go out of their way to make you feel like you were just a regular person. My parents never did that for me. I was born into the Whelans, and there’s not a single moment of my life where I wasn’t reminded of that.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been.”
“Hard but good. I had purpose. I had a place. Without your parents, it must’ve been terrible.”
“Those early days were. But Sheila pulled me out of it. She gave me everything…” I trail off.
He’s looking at me, his lips close to mine, his breath warm on my face.
I touch his nose, running my thumb down to his mouth before cupping his chin.
“No, that’s not right, is it? She didn’t have much to give. But you did.”
He shakes his head. “Sheila did everything that mattered. I just wrote the checks.”
“You didn’t have to do that, right? Once my parents were gone, you didn’t owe me anything.”
“I wanted to help. We had a connection.”
“One I didn’t even know about.”
“I wanted to do right.”
Some of the tension and anger in my chest begins to fade. He should’ve told me sooner—but the fact that he didn’t can’t erase how much better my life’s been because of him.
I’ve chosen to focus on the bad parts.
But the truth is, he saved my life. Sheila gave me a family and all the love I needed, while Declan made sure I had every resource imaginable.
Without him, I don’t know where I’d be.
I was just a lost girl with no parents. He could’ve walked away, and nobody would have ever blamed him for a second.
Instead, he devoted himself to me.
I lean forward and brush my lips to his.
“You did right,” I whisper, running my fingers into his hair.
“You did so right.” And I kiss him hard, tongue mashing into his mouth.
He returns the kiss with enthusiasm, and we stay like that on the bathroom floor making out, the tension in my body flowing out like water, right up until I bang my head on the sink.
“Ow, fuck,” I groan, rubbing my skull and laughing. “Shit, that hurts.”
He helps me up. “How about we get some ice?”
“No, I’m fine. How about you just take me home instead?”
“I can do that.” He kisses me gently again. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
“No, not yet. I’m getting there though.”
“The thing with me is when I’m yours, I’m all yours. I can wait as long as you need until you come around.”
“If you keep it up, you won’t have to wait long.”
“Then I’m doing something right.”
“For once.” I squeeze his hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” I tug him to the hall, but he pauses and checks his phone. The screen’s lit up, and he’s frowning at it.
“Seamus?” His whole body goes tense. His grip on my hand is borderline painful. “Where is she? How bad? How many? We’re on the way.”
He hangs up. I’m on high alert. Alarm bells scream in my head. He looks at me with pure concern and worry, and I already know it before he says anything.
“Your aunt,” he whispers, pulling me toward the doors. “There’s been a fire.”