Chapter Thirty-Four #2
“I don’t have a heart,” Connor deadpans. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told multiple times, by many girls.”
There’s no sense in reasoning with him. Connor is too detached to hear anything he doesn’t want to hear.
“This is why I’m moving out,” I say. “I get that you have your issues. We all do. But not all of us let them rule our lives the way you do. Try actually forming an interpersonal relationship rather than collecting someone as your property; you might find it extremely rewarding.”
When we get back to the house, Mira is waiting for me on the living room couch.
She has my laptop open on her lap, and is squinting at something on the screen.
Usually, anyone else touching my laptop would freak me out, but I gave her the passcode and told her to have at it earlier today.
I don’t have any sensitive information on it, but even if I did, I wouldn’t mind her having access.
After what she did for me with Clyde, I trust her completely.
“Hey, baby,” I greet, shucking my vest. All the guns are already safely stowed away in the gun vault underneath our gardening shed, so I’m unarmed.
“Oh, thank god,” she says, shutting the laptop and gazing at me with wide eyes. She rises from the couch and rushes at me like she’s been launched from a rocket, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her head in my chest.
I chuckle, wrapping my arms tightly around her and holding her close. “Were you worried about me?”
She nods into my chest. “Yes.”
“Hallo, love,” Seamus greets, striding up beside me. “Do I get the same reception?”
“Get fucked,” I snap.
He smiles. “I intend to. I’m off for the night, chaps; try not to miss me too much.”
In the back of my mind, I wonder if he’s going to meet up with Valerie.
He’s been pretty hung up on her since we crashed girl’s night, hasn’t shown interest in anyone else since.
He’s even gone as far as to chase Valerie.
He and Connor both thought I was being ridiculous for chasing Mira, but now, I think Seamus might be starting to see where I was coming from.
He heads up to his room, presumably to shower and prepare for whatever booty call he has set up for the night.
Mira steps back from me, running her hands up and down my arms, eyes searching my skin for wounds. “Were you hurt?”
“Nope. I’m just fine. Connor got a bit scraped up, but—”
I cut off when Mira’s eyes widen, fixing on Connor. He’s striding through the hall, staring at his phone. From his arm comes a steady dribble of blood that creates a puddle on the floor.
“You’re leaking,” I call out to him, jerking my chin at the mess. He stops and glances at his arm, brows furrowing.
“Damn.” He resumes walking.
“Call the doc to take a look at that graze—”
“It’s a scratch,” he cuts me off dismissively. “It’ll heal on its own.”
“It’s not a scratch,” Mira says, surprising me. She does her best to avoid Connor and shies away from addressing him at the best of times. Seeing his blood drip everywhere must bring out her nurturing instincts.
Connor freezes again, slowly turning to look at her with a challenging expression. “You got something to say?”
“Yeah, dumbbell,” she snarks. “Scratches don’t leak like that. If you have a good first aid kit, I can probably stitch you up. Save you the doctor’s visit and the subsequent bill.” She gives me an apologetic glance, probably thinking back to the time when she refused to help me out.
I’m not mad about it anymore. I’m almost certain that if I was the one who got shot tonight, she’d be offering her services to me.
In fact, this might help Connor stop viewing her as an adversary for my attention and loyalty.
Maybe she can work her magic on him the same way she’s worked it on Seamus and me.
Connor stares at her for a long time. “How do I know you won’t fuck with the wound just to hurt me?”
She scoffs faintly. “Easily. You’re not that important to me. Besides, it would hurt him,” she jerks her head at me, “and that’s something I will never do. Not intentionally.”
My chest warms. I curl an arm around her waist, tucking her into my side. I’m going to reward the shit out of her for this later tonight.
“Fine. I’ll get the first aid kit.” Connor continues down the hall.
“Bring hydrogen peroxide and rubbing alcohol too,” Mira calls out. He doesn’t respond, but I’m sure he heard her.
Mira turns to me. “How did it go?”
My lips twist. “Not as well as it could’ve, but not bad. One of the guys we thought would be there wasn’t, and he’s a top-dog of the Serpents. We killed his partner prematurely, before we could get the information we need out of him.”
Mira searches my eyes, her lips pressing together. “Let me guess. Connor killed him?”
It doesn’t take brilliant intuition like hers to deduce that.
Aside from being the coldest and most detached out of us, Connor’s also a man who functions based on instincts, abandoning logic when shit hits the fan.
That’s how things end up getting skewed.
The loss tonight isn’t terrible, but it isn’t good, either.
Sergei won’t be pissed, but he’ll probably be disappointed.
“Yeah,” I say after a beat. “Connor killed him. We’ll figure out another way to get to his partner down the line, but we’ll also be stepping up protection around here.
Better security, close monitoring. Seamus will be setting up a bunch of techy shit here and at our apartment so we’re safe once we move in. ”
Mira exhales a deep breath, nodding. “That’s fair.”
Connor strides back into the room, holding a duffle bag in his hands. He dumps it on the coffee table, then goes over to the bar, pouring himself a few fingers of whisky.
“I’m going to wash my hands before we start,” Mira murmurs, kissing my jaw. “Be right back.”
I turn to Connor when she disappears. “Be nice. This is a gesture of peace on her end.”
Connor snorts. “If I were at war with her, she’d already be dead.”
“Then stop treating her like an enemy or outsider,” I press. “She’s doing you a fucking favor. Ease up on it already. If you keep being a cold asshole to everyone around you, you’ll eventually have no one left.”
Mira walks back into the room before Connor can respond.
He glowers at me but sits on the couch and strips off his shirt.
I like that Mira doesn’t ogle his body the way just about all girls do; she gives him a brief up and down, her gaze clinical and detached, before focusing on his arm.
She rifles through the bag, pulling out several first aid kits and packs of gauze and bandages.
“The graze is superficial but still deep,” she says. “I’m gonna clean it, sew it, and patch it. The bandage will be waterproof, so you can shower, but it’ll need to be changed every three or so days.”
“Fine,” Connor mutters.
I seat myself in an armchair, watching as Mira gets to work.
Her movements are calm and confident, her hands steady, as if she’s done this before.
A flash of the scars covering her ribs overtakes my mind, reminding me that she probably learned how to stitch people up on herself.
The trauma she’s endured and the woman she is because of it is extraordinary.
“Why do you think colonel is pronounced like kernel?” she wonders aloud. My lips quirk, while Connor narrows his eyes at her like she’s insane. She blinks at him. “I mean, the prestigious title sounds like a corn kernel. It’s weird.”
Connor grunts. “No clue.”
Mira nods sagely. “Yeah. The English language is strange.” She starts on the stitches; he doesn’t even wince at the needle piercing his flesh. “I’ve always wanted to learn new languages. Do you know any others?”
Connor stares at her again, appearing to try to make sense of her. “I know some German.”
“Oh, can you teach me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You talk too much.”
She nods again. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
“Stop being a dick,” I warn Connor.
He gives an aggrieved shrug. “What? It’s fucking true. Who the hell asks questions like that from nowhere?”
“Guilty as charged,” Mira says brightly. “At least I’m not a six-foot-plus walking dumbbell and can hold an actual conversation.”
Surprisingly, Connor’s lips quirk with the hint of a smile. “Fair enough.”