Killian #4
But I’m still more distracted by the girl who’s occupied most of my last twenty-four hours. She had the fucking audacity to bump into me like she did. Other times she’s making it explicitly clear she wants nothing to do with me.
Just what the fuck is Jhene Prince’s problem anyway?
It’s the question that stays on my mind for the rest of the night.
I check in with Tom to see how she did while I was away.
Apparently, Jhene really was a good girl and behaved herself. She claimed she felt so bad for what happened to Tom’s pub that she wanted to help make it right by cleaning up the mess herself.
As I spend much of the night watching her from my favorite booth, I admit she’s good at pretending. She acts like nothing horrific happened last night and as if she isn’t some runaway wanted by the Bratva.
But the more I keep tabs on her, the more I’m convinced my first impression was right.
There’s more to Jhene Prince than meets the eye, and the girl is obviously trouble.
Even if it’s not her fault the Bratva are after her, she hasn’t helped her situation. She’s brought a fuckton of other problems by refusing to accept the NYPD’s help and by entrenching herself at an Irish pub known for mob ties.
Whether she’s meant to is irrelevant, but she’s potentially set off a war between the two crime syndicates.
Maybe the right thing would be to wash my hands of the situation. Let the girl handle her own damn problems and be done with it.
By midnight, I’m still torn.
Tom’s herding stragglers toward the door and wiping down the bar a final time. Jhene starts stacking chairs on tables, her movements stiff and slow as if she’s running on fumes.
I push myself out of the booth and make my way over to her.
“Time to go,” I grunt.
She spares me no look. “It’s okay, Killer. I’ve got it. I’m sleeping with two knives under my pillow this time.”
“You’re not staying overnight at the pub.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
We both look over at the third voice jumping into the conversation.
It’s Tom, who’s come out from behind the bar counter. He wipes his hands on the same rag he’s used a hundred times tonight and shakes his head in apology.
“Sorry, but the risk is too great, kid. You’re a hard worker and you’ve got guts. But I’m not risking the Bratva coming back here and destroying my pub a second time. Do you have any idea what my insurance premiums are gonna look like if the damage gets worse?”
“I can handle myself—”
“You can keep your job,” Tom continues, ignoring her protests. “For now, at least. But the pub is a place of business. Not a hotel. You can’t stay here overnight. That’s my final word on it.”
Jhene’s mouth hangs open as if she wants to argue but once again chooses to let her nonverbal cues do the work for her. It almost makes her look younger than her years, lost and desperate and completely out of options.
Then she comes to her senses and reverts back into herself. The walls come back up and her expression hardens.
“Fine,” she says coolly, turning on her heel and stalking toward the backroom. “I’ll get my stuff and go. I’ll find somewhere else to spend the night.”
I track her, my boots heavy on the wooden floor.
It only takes her a couple seconds to snatch her few belongings off the cot in the backroom and start shoving them into a backpack.
“Not now,” she says, back turned to me. Yet she senses my presence anyway. “The pub’s closing. You should leave.”
“I will… once you’re done packing. You’ll be coming with me.”
She whirls around, her large dark eyes blazing behind her glasses. “Back off. I decide where I go.”
“We’ve been through this, girl. The decision’s not yours to make. Not ’til this thing’s solved.”
“Until what’s solved? What are you even talking about? I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t ask for any of this!”
“Doesn’t matter what you asked for. You think I asked for you and your damn problems to come into my life?
” I rumble back at her. “Things are more complicated than your little hissy fits about autonomy. By involving yourself with this pub, you’ve brought your problems to our doorstep.
It just so happens we’ve already got our own problems with the Bratva. See how that compounds things?
“So consider yourself ours for the time being. Our territory. Our possession. The Bratva wants you back, and we’re the only thing in their way, preventing that from happening.
” I close the gap between us, glaring into her eyes and watching my reflection in them.
“That means you’re in my fucking custody ’til this is over. Got it?”
A range of emotions flits across her heart-shaped face. Her glasses have slipped down her nose, and she nudges them back up before turning to look at her bookbag and the few other belongings she has. Then she heaves a long, slow sigh.
“For the record, I’m not okay with this.”
“That makes two of us. Grab your shit and let’s go.”
I turn on my heel and stalk out of the room. Jhene isn’t far behind—she collects her few things and follows in my wake.
It occurs to me as I nod goodnight at Tom that I’m all she’s got.
I really am the only thing standing between her and the Bratva…