Chapter 13
Samantha
Lennon’s driver drops us off in front of the Salt Line Tavern. There’s a second burly soldier occupying the passenger seat of the Range Rover, so we sat in the back together.
“We’ll be right outside those doors if you need us,” the soldier says as we slide out.
“Great, thanks.” Lennon rolls her eyes once we’re on the sidewalk. She slips her arm through mine and gives me a sheepish smile. “I know I should be grateful after being kidnapped, but they’re just a reminder that I’m not safe.”
I squeeze her arm. “I get it.” And I do, though I personally feel safer knowing those two are watching out for us.
I’ve curled my hair and put on one of my favorite comfy sundresses paired with sandals. Lennon’s in a green maxi dress, her hair also worn down and curled. We get some appreciative glances when we walk in.
The place is a high-class country bar with warm wood floors and accents, black iron chandeliers and strings of patio lights. A beautiful black marble bar runs the length of the back wall. They also have a reputation for the best local bands and great food. My body is buzzing with anticipation.
“Sloane’s already here,” Lennon says, grabbing my hand and waving to her friend, who’s grinning at us from a round high-top table.
Sloane hugs Lennon then introduces herself to me with a welcoming smile and handshake. Sloane’s petite with a shiny dark bob and an air of sophistication and confidence. Her makeup is flawless, her hazel eyes sparkling beneath dark lashes.
“Nice to meet you.” I return her smile.
She pats my hand, her grin growing. “Hope you’re hungry. I’ve ordered some chicken nachos and a round of Tequilla shots.” She glances behind me. “Right on time.”
As we settle into the tall chairs, the waitress places a shot glass rimmed in salt in front of each of us, and three more in the middle of the table with a plate of lime wedges.
I scan the room as I pick up the glass and a lime wedge. Men are watching us, but with curiosity or humor, none of them with malice. And none of them are Michael. I relax a little.
“To friendships… both old and new.” Lennon raises her shot glass.
“Damn, Lennon, you about blinded me with that ring.” Sloane lifts her glass to her red lips as they curl into a mischievous grin. “To getting the fairytale ending.”
Lennon laughs, and shakes her head, as she licks salt from the edge of the glass.
“To being in charge of our own destiny.” I lick the salt, down the shot and bite down on the lime wedge.
The explosion of flavors in my mouth makes my shoulders shimmy, my mouth pucker.
“Whew.” I accidently make eye contact with one of the men at the table next to us as I’m licking the salt from my upper lip.
He’s wearing a dark blue Tampa Bay baseball cap and staring at me a bit too intensely, a grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. I look away.
“Whew is right.” Sloane smacks her lips dramatically. “The first one is the most painful. Just like sex,” she grunts, distributing the rest of the shots. “This one will be smoother.”
We clink glasses and repeat the ritual.
My throat and belly are feeling the burn when the waitress returns with a trayful of appetizers.
The scent makes my stomach rumble. It smells delicious.
I haven’t had a real meal since Lennon’s dinner party.
Unpackaging the crackers, I dig one into the crab dip and moan as it melts on my tongue. Lennon orders a pitcher of margaritas.
Sloane leans her chin on her fist and sighs wistfully at Lennon. “Okay, spill the deets on the honeymoon.”
The conversation and laughter flow between us as we eat and drink. By the time I look up, the place is packed, and there’s a band setting up in the corner. Two older men in cowboy hats and one young woman tuning her guitar. I have a good buzz going and feel lighter than I have in years.
So, this is what normal life feels like.
A sudden pang of loss hits me. And then guilt. No, I wouldn’t trade any of it for Rona. Without the pain, isolation and despair, she wouldn’t have been born.
Still, this is nice.
Sloane excuses herself to go to the restroom.
“So.” Lennon turns to me, her freckles standing out in flushed cheeks, her green eyes glittering. “Like I said, I’m a good listener if you need to get anything off your chest.”
She must’ve noticed my mood shift. God, I would love to share the hell I went through with Michael, the chance I took running from him with Rona.
I almost groan. Getting some advice about how to keep her safe would be helpful.
But I can’t. The only true way to keep her safe is to pretend like she doesn’t exist.
I force a smile. “I appreciate it, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
” She’s looking at me like she’s unconvinced.
So, I have to give her something. I glance around and lean closer.
“I had to keep the gang member alive last night so they could… you know… get information out of him. It’s just hard. Being a doctor and doing that.”
At this, she nods and reaches between the half-eaten appetizer dishes to squeeze my hand.
“I can’t even imagine.” She cocks her head, her voice dropping.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but Sandro mentioned something about his family helping you get a job working for him off the books.
Did you have to leave New York because you were in danger? ”
Anxiety tightens my chest. She’s still digging and getting too close to the truth. I can’t lie to her, she’ll see right through that. So, I keep it vague. “I was in a bad relationship.”
Her green eyes are glassy but searching my own for the truth. Finally, she nods, accepting the little information I’ve given as truth. “I’m sorry,” she offers. “But I’m glad you’re here now and safe.” She’s suddenly straining to look behind me, blinking in surprise. “What’s my brother doing here?”
My shoulders stiffen. I don’t turn to look at the door, but I see the reaction of the women around us.
The double takes. The whispers. The nudges, the preening and tracking of their gazes.
Killian is just one of those men who can’t hide in a crowd.
Besides his square-jawed beauty and tall, muscular frame, he owns any room he enters with an easy confidence. It’s like catnip. Poison catnip.
Sloane returns at that moment. “Probably here to check up on you.” She glances at me and then leans closer. “You okay? Your face is flushed.”
“Fine,” I say with too much force. “Alcohol does that.”
So does a hot as fuck, six-three, pierced and tatted Irishman.
Lennon holds up her hand, wiggling her fingers in greeting.
Within seconds I feel his heat at my back. “Ladies. Causing any trouble yet?”
His voice has hormones rushing through my body in a deadly cocktail of stupidity.
Lennon grins, lifting her glass. “Not yet, but the night is young.”
Moving around the table, he gives her shoulder a squeeze and nods a greeting at Sloane. Then his gaze lands on me.
I freeze. A deer in a lust-inducing spotlight. It’s one thing to see him in his element with the other mafia men. But seeing him in this kind of setting, with a background of normal men just highlights his commanding, self-assured and dangerous aura.
Two men round the table and stand beside him. Tall, bearded, dark hair, dark eyes. They look like brothers, only one of them has longer hair and a thick scar from the inside of his eye to his jaw. These are also men you wouldn’t want to run into in a dark alley.
Killian’s eyes stay locked on mine as he speaks. “Pat, Shay, this is my sister Lennon, and her friends Sloane and Dr. Sam.”
“Nice to meet you, ladies,” they each greet us with a distinct Chicago accent as they shake our hands.
I break eye contact with Killian as Pat, the one with the scar, addresses me. “Dr. Sam, you’re the one taking care of Mac?”
I give him a polite smile and nod.
His dark gaze sweeps over me as he grins. “You must have the patience of a saint.”
“She’s no saint,” Killian says, low enough that only I catch it. And only because my attention is fully focused on him against my will. I can’t help it. His presence is stronger than a gravitational pull.
My eyes narrow, but he only winks at me.
Cocky asshole.
“Ah.” Shay snaps his fingers, his grin widening. “Sully said you’re training the strippers, too. A woman of many talents.”
Mine and Killian’s head both whip toward him. Killian scowls.
I can feel Lennon and Sloane staring at the side of my face.
I’ve never been embarrassed to dance, but I do feel ambushed at the moment.
“Yes, well, I’m used to being busy, so needed something else to do,” I mumble.
It’s lame, but it’s all I could come up with under this glaring spotlight of attention.
Killian is still staring at Shay like he’s going to stick his fist through his teeth. He settles for smacking him in the back of the head. “Maybe she didn’t want that being everybody’s business, ya dope.”
I raise an eyebrow as Shay mumbles an apology. Is Killian defending my honor? Because if he is, I’m more embarrassed by my lack of morals when it comes to not following the oath I took as a doctor, than showing my body. “It’s fine.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Lennon stares at her brother, thankfully changing the subject. “Did Sandro send you? You better not be checking up on me.”
He shifts on his feet and his gaze flicks to me for a second.
“Just showin’ the boys around town. They arrived from Chicago a few days ago.
” He rests a hand on Shay’s shoulder, squeezes harder than necessary if the man’s wince is any indication, and nods his chin toward the bar.
“Also, I need to talk that bartender into comin' to work at The Lucky Sinner. Her name’s Scarlett. I’ve had an eye on her for a few weeks.
She’s great at handling both mixin’ and surly clients. ”