11. Ava
Ava
C onnor said I could pick our next date, a week after that unforgettable night in the city. That bone-melting, heart-stopping night in his bed.
I want to see him in his element. Understand what shapes this man that I am coming to care for very much. And so here I am standing outside Intrigue in the frigid cold, spending another hard-won night off that I’d be making up for with early morning shifts next week.
Not regretting it for an instant.
The line of women snaking around the velvet ropes in front of Intrigue takes my breath away. Boston’s most beautiful women, clad in the smallest dresses, waiting for the doors to open.
Huddled in my dark wool coat against the cold, I don’t fit in. How do they not feel the chill?
The girl in front of me tosses her waist-length platinum hair for the third time and dramatically proclaims, “Do they just let anyone in here?” while giving me a pointed look.
Annoyance flares, but I don’t get a chance to respond.
A familiar form moves down the line toward me, burly hulk advancing as if with intent. Sully, looking every inch a Southie fighter, gives me a big grin.
“Evening! May I escort you in?”
The emphasis he puts on escort is so dramatic I can’t help but laugh, and that earns me a wink. Ms. Platinum looks like she’s going to say something but Sully moves us toward the door fast.
“Boss is just overseeing a few things. He’ll be right down,” Sully’s clipped accent carries over the loud music that drifts out through the door as we approach. The guys working security at the front are huge, dressed in dark suits, hard to tell apart.
Every one of them looks me over curiously.
I’m shifting uncomfortably by the time they wave us in.
“Boss doesn’t have guests,” Sully offers quietly.
My face flushes, my chest pulling tight. I feel so out of place. Maybe this was a mistake?
Some part of me realizes that I’m getting in deep with Connor; but another part – the pragmatic part – tells me that there’s still more I need to understand about his life. What he does. Who he is when he’s not walking me home from school or doing those impossibly delicious things to me in his bed.
Just the thought has me growing hot with desire and I quickly look around, wondering if anyone can sense it.
My eyes find Connor in the crowd, halfway up the winding staircase on a landing. He’s talking to a cluster of people. Hands moving, he’s issuing orders confidently as his eyes sweep the dance floor. Then he locks on me, that magnetic force that pulls us together, and he’s by my side in an instant.
All eyes are on him, people already starting to move across the floor toward him. It’s easy to say he manages a club. It’s harder to really understand what that means.
Connor turns me toward him, and looks down into my eyes for a long time. There’s a slow smile, those dimples peeking out and making my heart do a little flip.
Oh, lord, my heart is getting caught up in this. Feelings that melt into something more as he wordlessly leans down, pressing his lips to mine. A fierce kiss, a claiming kiss, marking me in some way for those who are watching.
When he pulls back, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “You are absolutely stunning, sweetheart.”
He’s going to say something more. That’s when it happens. There’s a sharp noise that comes from the other side of the club, and all I can see is a sea of the security guards in dark suits moving toward someone.
It seems like there’s a commotion, and Connor’s full attention is on whatever’s happening. Sully still lingers nearby, but when he starts to move in that direction, Connor gives a commanding shake of his head.
“Ava, I need to handle this. Sully, you stay with Ava until I get back.”
Then he shoulders into the crowd, which parts to let him go and then fills in to swallow up the space he leaves in his wake.
Sully clears his throat and when I look at him, he gives me an exaggerated eyebrow waggle that makes me laugh. “Not often an old bogtrotter like me gets to buy a beautiful woman like you a drink. Ah, don’t tell the boss I said that or he’ll be rearranging my face. What can I get you, Miss Ava?”
I ask for a seltzer. He proposes whiskey straight. There’s a negotiation and he comes back with a wine spritzer. I’m a complete lightweight, and don’t like to get drunk. My eyes are riveted to the place where Connor was.
Sully’s back in an instant, the fizzy drink in his hand. “Would you like to hit the dance floor?” He sounds almost hopeful.
There’s a sound from the back of the club. Just one, you wouldn’t hear it if you weren’t listening for it. Fist driving into flesh and muscle. Fear screams through me. Connor.
Sully heard it too, because his eyes are locked on some spot in the club. I touch his arm and when he meets my eyes, I realize that he too has those vivid blue Irish eyes.
“Go on, Sully. It’s okay.” He plunges into the crowd and I follow close behind him. What the hell am I going to do in a fight? I don’t know. But maybe something.
Sully’s already throwing back a door that I didn’t see until I was right on top of it, and moving into the space. A familiar voice – Connor’s voice – is raised in anger.
“You come into my club, onto Doyle property, selling drugs,” his voice is tight with fury.
As we round the corner, I see Connor standing over a man that’s been pushed into a chair in the middle of the room. Blood runs down his face, and his nose looks broken. A wave of nausea rolls over me as I take it in.
Connor stands above him, the dark jacket off and the sleeves on his shirt rolled up. He doesn’t look angry, just resigned, but his voice has that cold edge to it that brings me back to the first time we met. When he sent Sully after Brooks.
It seemed so different then. But under the naked light of the bulb in this back room, there’s a whole different feel.
“Answer me, or this is going to get a lot worse fast. Who sent you?” Connor barks. “The Carneys? You moving in on our turf? We don’t fucking do drugs here, asshole. Not here, not anywhere. You hear me?”
The man flinches, and Connor continues bearing down, “Or maybe the Stacys? Is that what this is, a goddamned setup?”
The man finally responds. “Fuck you, Doyle. Stacy is going to get you, take you down. Take every piece of shit thing your family’s got and leave you fighting over the scraps when your old man kicks it.”
Then I understand. That animosity. The Stacys have something against the Doyles, and they’re not above using that corruption to get their point across. I feel dizzy, as the thought that I’ve made whatever that old history is a thousand times worse.
Bile’s rising in my throat, a mixture of horror at the Stacys’ reach. The man’s awful words. The twist of rage, resolute power, and pain that flashes across Connor’s face.
“Answer me,” Connor’s fist is drawing back, his shoulder moving. I can’t bear it. Can’t bear to see him strike this guy, no matter how much it’s deserved.
“Connor,” my voice is loud, high-pitched, raw with terror.
His whole body freezes, his eyes going to mine. The mask comes into place, and he looks like the Connor I know. Trust. Could love.
Love?
Oh my god. Am I falling in love with Connor Doyle? It’s all too much. I have to get out of here. Need air. My hand’s moving toward my pocket, grabbing my inhaler and I’m moving frantically toward the door at the same time Connor’s saying, “Sully, get her the fuck out of here.”
And then, his voice more alarmed, “Ava. Ava, wait. Fuck. Sully, handle this.”
His feet pound behind me, and I remember the last time I was near this club. Pursued. Afraid. I push through the undulating bodies, hitting people, not even bothering to apologize. The cold air on my face when I push out into the street is like heaven, and I take a panicked puff of my inhaler.
“Ava,” Connor’s voice comes softly behind me.
I turn, and my first instinct is to throw myself into his arms. But then I see it. The bruising on his knuckles. The blood spattered across his shirt. I just can’t.
He takes a step toward me, and I jerk back.
“Fuck.”
There’s so much fury, frustration, fear in that voice.
Everything I’m feeling in my chest.
“Ava, it’s not what it looks like,” he tries again. But his features have already started to register defeat.
I don’t like violence. I’ve spent too much of the last year on the receiving end of it. That’s the thing. Connor’s better than this. At least, I thought he was.
“You were beating that man,” I say finally, my voice sounding exhausted.
He looks at me, runs a hand over his face.
“He works for the Stacys. Trying to do a setup at the club. Look, Ava, you know what the Stacy hold is here in the city. Every cop in their pocket, more or less. Normal justice isn’t going to take care of this guy, and I’ve got to make a point so it doesn’t happen again. ”
Justice isn’t always black and white. Business isn’t always black and white.
I know the Stacys’ subvert the law. Are untouchable, even when you are getting a fucking law degree.
But I just can’t square this man, covered in blood, with the man that gave of himself so selflessly in bed. The man that walks me home. The man that I think I might be falling for.
What he’s saying makes sense, and somehow that’s making everything harder. I need to get out of here. “Connor, please. I need to go home. ”
For long seconds he looks at my face and then he says, “I could drive you.” But when I shake my head, he nods.
“Okay, Ava,” and he puts a hand on the small of my back to guide me toward a bank of waiting town cars. He speaks a few words to one of the drivers, and then I’m ensconced in the back of a car that’s so fancy that under other circumstances I’d be giddy to ride in it.
Tonight, I feel hollow and as it drives away, my eyes stay riveted to Connor. He looks upset, staring after us until I can’t see him anymore.
The desire to get some space wars with an even stronger desire to go back and comfort him. I’m getting a much clearer sense of who Connor is, how those pieces fit together.
I just don’t know if I can accept him as he is.